


Secondhand Robes

by Samayel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samayel/pseuds/Samayel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has a mysterious benefactor at the moment of his greatest need, but who?...and most importantly...why? (Post OotP)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That’s how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

 

Secondhand Robes……….by Samayel

 

‘I can’t believe this is happening to me! To ME!’

Draco stood outside Madam Malkin’s. With his parent’s arrest and subsequent sentence to Azkaban, the Ministry had frozen their assets, including Draco’s trust fund.

Due to the incredible complexity of the Malfoy estate, and the equally incredible incompetence of the Ministry, no judgment had yet been rendered. It had been almost two months, and not a Knut had been released for his education and other expenses.

The petty cash available to Draco, made up of small change that had been kept at hand for travel and shopping, had been eaten up by the cost of renting a small room in Diagon Alley. Food had not been included in the arrangement, and when Draco finally received his Hogwarts letter, he had actually broken down and cried with relief. The Sorting Feast had never sounded so good before. 

Each new year had always included a trip to Madam Malkin’s. Until now. The latest styles were out of the question for his budget, and his robes from last year scarcely fit him anymore. Not to mention that, with the closing of the manor, Draco had been barred from most of his wardrobe. In the hustle to survive for two months, this moment hadn’t really occurred to him.

His Transfiguration skills were rather meager, and his Charms were only average, and none of them were up to the task he required. He’d mostly paid attention to hexes, curses, jinxes and the counter-spells for same. Now he found himself in need of magical tailoring, and without much in the way of funds, he was in a real bind.

The Malfoy name had suffered quite a bit, but if he showed up in Slytherin looking poorer than a Weasley, his reputation would be ruined for good. As horrifying as the past two months had been, Draco contemplated leaving England and just running away for the first time. Some fates were worse than death…facing his housemate’s ridicule was one of them.

There were alternatives to the traditional stores, but that idea was fraught with peril. If anyone learned that Draco Malfoy had shopped for secondhand robes, all hell would break loose! Then there was the wound to his pride that undertaking such a course would inflict. It was simply out of the question.

It was possible, albeit unlikely, that he could play upon his reputation and good standing, thereby cadging a small measure of credit from this shop. He’d spent thousands of Galleons here since he’d started his schooling, and that had to count for something. Right?

He’d seen other students wander in and out of the shop, while he stood in the alley nearby, gathering his courage. When the traffic ebbed low, Draco strolled in, hoping his air of nonchalance was convincing.

It seemed safer to shop first, then let the issue of payment emerge later, and affect an air of confidence and disdain…if they bought it, they could always bill him later, and he could direct them to the Ministry for payment. Anything to make the silly buggers hurry up and allot him something for expenses!

The clerks were cloying, the tailors ingratiating, and Draco had never enjoyed shopping so little. Tension and veiled shame were simply ruining one of his favorite activities. Nonetheless, his head was high as other students drifted in and out, and when his selections were tallied, he steeled himself for the inevitable.

The young witch at the counter packaged his purchases neatly and handed them to him with a smile. Her only remarks were the standard well wishes and entreaties to come again.

Draco stood still a moment, waiting for some kind of explanation. His heart was pounding so heavily that he was afraid that she might hear it. With no information forthcoming, he was forced to pose the indelicate question himself.

“Um…all in order then? No problems with my account?”

The young witch looked up cheerfully. “None at all Mr. Malfoy. Your new account was set up today. I hope you found everything satisfactory. Is there something more I can help you with?”

Draco reeled. “My…my new account?”

“Yes. The owl came through this weekend. The matter was handled with the discretion requested. We do pride ourselves on our service, and I hope we didn’t disappoint.”

‘No…no…not at all. Just…uh…well…who set up the account?” Draco felt an intense need to know who his ally was. Someone had done him an enormous favor, and if it was a Slytherin, he would be expected to recompense them in some way. Knowing who had done this would make the negotiating a bit easier. He couldn’t imagine anyone not a Slytherin who would do such a thing on his behalf, and the notion of owing someone who might make unreasonable demands was a bit unnerving to say the least!

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Malfoy. The matter was resolved with the discretion requested, and I’m afraid we can’t divulge that information.” She seemed sincerely sorry, but Draco was not easily dissuaded.

Thinking fast, Draco made a startled face and looked to the stock room behind her. As she turned to glance back, his eyes raked over the paperwork in front of her. All he caught sight of was a Gringott’s account number, but at least that was something to go on. He smiled politely as the clerk turned back to him.

“You’ve been very kind. Do have a nice day, and I look forward to shopping here again soon. Farewell.”

The clerk wished him well and Draco left with his package of clothing, thoroughly mystified by his weird turn of fortune.

His next stop was Gringott’s, and Draco knew he’d need more luck than charm if he was going to squeeze more than a couple words out of one of the goblins. The hard nosed little bastards were as stingy with information as they were with Galleons, and that was saying quite a bit! There was a wizarding legend that claimed that the American Grand Canyon had only come to exist because a goblin had dropped a Knut down a sewer grate!

In the end, the entire encounter had been an exercise in managing frustration. The goblin had shut him down completely, answering with yes or no and refusing to elaborate or divulge information about an account that was not Draco’s.

Draco left in defeat, stepping out of the long line that had formed behind him and heading for the exit. It was only the hushed tone of the person talking to the goblin clerk that alerted his Slytherin instincts. Draco paused, pretending to check his package carefully before moving on.

“Your account number, sir?” The goblin’s voice was an ugly rasp like rusty hinges.

“Four-oh-one…one-three-seven…two-three-nine.” The gentleman in line was a nondescript fellow with muddy brown hair and no particularly noteworthy features, but the number was precisely the one Draco had read earlier!

“And your business, sir?”

“Account status…recent activity and new balance.”

The goblin scribbled a few notes, then handed a slip to the gentleman. “Is that all you require?” The creature’s tone was still brusque.

“Yes. Thank you.” His mystery benefactor strolled away, and Draco waited a few seconds, then followed with the kind of caution only a Slytherin could manage.

The unfamiliar fellow drifted from shop to shop, seemingly without purpose, but Draco recognized a pattern to the choices. This fellow was trying to avoid being trailed, and Draco worked all the harder to avoid being seen while keeping up.

In an alley not far from the famous entrance, Draco saw the man slip into the quiet gloom and disappear. Before Draco could move closer, Harry Potter walked out of the alley, distracting Draco’s attention completely!

Draco waited until Potter was gone, then moved into the alley himself. Twenty feet in, he realized he was in a dark cul-de-sac, no exits, no doors. The only people that had been through this alley were Draco, the mystery man, and Potter. A horrifying notion crossed Draco’s mind a second later.

It didn’t seem plausible. Why in the name of the Nine Hells would Potter set up an account for Draco? Potter! What game was the scar headed prat playing at? It simply made no sense.

Draco still had the bookstore to visit, and he wondered if an account had been set up there, too. If Malkin’s had been covered for him, why not his school texts as well? Finding out would occupy time while he struggled with the concept of Potter’s inexplicable act of charity.

Charity. The word made Draco’s skin crawl. It was unthinkable that a Malfoy would take favors of this nature. A business deal was one thing, that was the stuff of life, but charity was for the weak, and there were no weak Malfoys. At least, that’s what Father had always shouted at him, usually while wielding the business end of that fucking cane. Draco changed his mental tack, avoiding the things he hated to think of at any time.

His father was in Azkaban because of Potter. The Ministry attack had been a spectacular failure, and even the Dark Lord himself had been forced to flee from Potter and Dumbledore’s combined strength. If Potter hadn’t shoved his nose into that business, Draco would still be living in the manor, dining off of priceless heirloom flatware, sleeping in his own bed, and buying whatever he pleased with his own money!

That forced another unbidden thought into Draco’s mind. It had also been two months since he had been beaten by his father, and two months since he’d needed Healing spells or Glamours to hide bruises. 

Lucius Malfoy had become increasingly violent and erratic since the Dark Lord’s return, and Draco would never say it out loud, but he’d slept more peacefully in a strange and uncomfortable bed these last two months than he had in his own home the last two years. 

Potter had bought Draco more than robes, he’d bought Draco a few weeks of quiet and peaceful routine, even if poverty was the side effect. Now the bespectacled enigma was undoing the poverty. It just made no damn sense!

Draco finally reached Flourish and Blott’s, and slipped into the small crowd of shoppers. He gathered the texts he’d need for his sixth year courses, as well as a few necessities for study and writing, then moved to the payment queue.

He’d been right. A small account had been set up in his name, with slightly more funds than he would likely have required for any purchases. This time the clerk was paying no attention, and Draco quite clearly spotted the paper the man had read from when Draco requested the purchase be charged. Potter had been here, too!

It was vexing. Unfathomable. Just bloody fucking incomprehensible! He had to wonder what was going through Potter’s head. Potter was supposed to hate him above all Slytherin students. Hell, Draco’s reputation was practically built upon the foundation of being the chief rival and tormentor of The Boy Who Lived.

How could Harry Potter have forgotten the last five years? Especially last year…Potter was furious when the Inquisitorial Squad had caught him red-handed. If anything, Draco should have been dodging hexes, not trailing a hidden benefactor!

Draco lugged his purchases down the street, wishing he’d mastered that Shrinking Charm in Flitwick’s class last year. The trip back to the Halfway Inn would be longer than ever with bundles of books and clothes to be dragged along behind him.

Draco stopped cold outside of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. Through the front window he could see Potter chatting with his friends. He looked like he was having a nice time on the town, and a manic urge welled up in Draco. He wanted to confront Potter, and it looked like the opportunity for same was coming soon. Weasel and the Mudblood were getting up to leave, and Potter hadn’t shown any sign of budging yet.

He slipped back into the milling crowds, and waited for Weasel’s flaming red hair and Granger’s bushy mess to pass safely by before he entered. Merlin, if those two ever bred, the children would have heads that looked like someone had set the shrubbery afire!

Potter looked pensive, and a bit tired. His free hand was rubbing his temple, as though he had a headache. Draco moved in quietly, and stood in front of Potter’s table.

“What’s wrong, Potter? Something bothering you?” Honestly, he hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so insulting, but instincts and habits are hard to break. The sharp tone made Potter look up with serious irritation.

“Something is…now! Don’t you have anything better to do? I don’t need this right now, Malfoy. Cut me a break today, and you can be twice as rotten as usual some other time, sound good?”

Draco couldn’t help but notice the note of almost plaintive exasperation in Harry’s voice. If he wanted answers, a different tone might be called for.

“Sorry. That came out wrong. I meant…you just look like you have a lot on your mind. Maybe you’re too good to talk to me, even if I tried. I’m off. See you in school.” Draco feigned disinterest, and turned to leave, hoping Potter would take the bait.

“Malfoy. I didn’t mean it like that. If you’re not here to make trouble, I wouldn’t mind if you sat down.” 

Draco hid his smile. Jackpot! Sometimes Potter was wonderfully predictable. “Thanks, I just wanted some ice cream, and you’re the only person I know in here. Some company would be refreshing.”

Draco placed his order and returned to the table with a sundae that had cost him most of his remaining change. Not that it mattered, his room was paid to the end of the week, and he had just enough for a couple meager meals. Once he was back in school, he could eat to his heart’s content. At the moment, however, his sundae tasted better than anything he’d ever had.

He hoped Potter was too off his guard to notice the starvation induced ecstasy that Draco was experiencing with every spoonful. It was time to chat, and hope he could work his way around to the subject of robes and books.

“Like I was saying…you just looked tense. I can understand that. This hasn’t been my easiest summer. Something unsolvable, or something solvable but thorny?”

Harry’s eyes were veiled, full of mysteries and suspicion. Draco suddenly worried that nothing he could say would undo the damage he’d done without thinking before. Then Harry answered.

“Not unsolvable, just very, very thorny. I don’t want to insult you...take my word for it, but I have to say this. You’re here for something. Talking to me for a reason. Let’s respect each other enough to stop the pretense, Malfoy. Why are you here…at this table?”

Damn! Who would have imagined a smart, subtle Gryffindor? What a pain in the arse that he had to show those traits today! Draco was halfway taken by the urge to spew a few curses and leave, but he wasn’t abandoning his ice cream so easily…or his answers. Exasperation took over. Draco put his spoon down and looked Potter directly in the eyes.

“You know why. I didn’t start this. I’m just seeing where this is going. So respect me enough to treat me like you understand that, and we’ll get on just fine.” Draco lifted his chin and let hint of his old sneer show. Potter blinked.

“What…what are you…oh. Fuck! How? How did…”

“I’m not wearing green because I’m a mental defective, Potter. No matter how much your housemates might think otherwise, at least credit the house that represents cunning with actually having some. It doesn’t matter how I know…I came to find out why.”

Potter’s front crumbled easily enough, and Draco was feeling smug…until Potter clammed up completely, and looked like he was ready to explode or leave outright at any second.

“We’re not having this conversation. I have to go.” Potter stood up and grabbed his pack.

Draco felt a mixture of panic he hadn’t expected, and a surge of anger he hadn’t intended. His mouth was moving before his brain caught up.

“Yes, we fucking well are talking about this! You can’t do things like that and walk away without an explanation.” It came out an angry hiss that made Potter flinch a little with embarrassment.

Potter flicked suddenly back to outrage. “Shut up! You weren’t even supposed to know! If you weren’t such a prying, spying prat you could have just fucking enjoyed it without picking it apart. Damn it!”

Potter turned for the door, obviously aware that this conversation had become a scene in the eyes of other patrons. His hand was almost on the handle when Draco lost it.

“WHY!? POTTER…WHY? What was all that for? The secrecy, all the effort, no credit for you, no brownie points…so why?” Draco’s face was red. He knew his cheeks must be burning, but he was past caring now. His entire focus was on Potter, who had frozen stiff at the edge of the door.

Potter turned around. His face was a study in contrasts, part amusement, part horror. Draco honestly couldn’t tell if Potter was on the edge of laughing out loud or breaking into tears.

Potter raised his chin like a challenge, bit back whatever emotions were tearing him apart, and answered haltingly, as if every word was a torment to release.

“I did it…because…because…” Potter faltered for a minute, choking on either laughter or tears, looking at Draco with a crazy kind of desperation and helplessness.

“…Draco…Malfoy…doesn’t…wear…second…hand…robes.” Potter’s eyes were shining. Then he turned away, and left without another word, leaving Draco sitting in gob-smacked confusion.

Draco finished his ice cream in silence, lost in thought, and returned to his tiny room at the Halfway Inn. His sleep came uneasily, and was plagued by dreams that seemed to drift constantly toward shining green eyes. 

The day for leaving came faster than he imagined. Draco packed his things, hefted his trunk, and made for Platform Nine and Three-quarters. His heart felt lighter than it had in years, and a nervous trepidation filled him that hadn’t been present since his first year.

This wouldn’t be a year like any of the ones before it, and Draco knew instinctively that something would mark this year as the strangest and most profound of his entire life. 

He also knew that whatever came to pass, he would walk into Hogwarts and the Slytherin commons with his head held high, bowing to no one, because Draco Malfoy didn’t wear secondhand robes, and Harry Potter had seen to that.

TBC!!!


	2. Part 2

Secondhand Robes (part 2)……….by Samayel

 

“He wasn’t supposed to know! What the fuck have I just done? What do I do? What the hell was I even thinking?”

Harry was still pulling in panic breaths as he made his way back to the Weasleys. Ron and Hermione had gone ahead to meet Ron’s folks at the Apothecary, and with a little luck…just maybe…Harry could get out of Diagon Alley before Draco decided to corner him and ask more questions.

Harry didn’t even really have answers for the one he’d just been asked. He’d acted on impulse, no real plan in mind. It was supposed to be simple; give the brat whose parents he’d gotten arrested a break, with no one the wiser. There weren’t going to be any conversations in the plan. Trust Draco Malfoy to trash the whole program out of pure Sytherin curiosity!

Harry hadn’t dwelt on his reasons for such an impulsive plan, for to dwell upon them meant the risk of realizing other, more significant things he was utterly unprepared to cope with. His mind settled on a cluster of curious half truths.

His first summer visit to Diagon Alley had been for supplies, and he’d been in the company of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. The Order needed certain necessities at Grimmauld Place, and Harry had begged a chance to get out of the house that only reminded him of Sirius.

He’d been heavily disguised, with dual Glamours that only Aurors traditionally used. Most Revealing Charms would see through the pleasant outer Glamour, and the watcher would see an ugly fellow beneath. Such precautions were made necessary by Harry’s recent battle. He’d made too many enemies to walk safely anywhere, and had been moved to Grimmauld Place under heavy guard. This was his first day out of the house in almost three weeks.

Naturally, Draco Malfoy was the first person he bumped into. They’d been entering a small pub for lunch, and Harry hadn’t been paying attention, sandwiched between Lupin and Tonksy as he was. He’d stepped on Draco’s foot on the way into building, earning him a muttered series of curses about clumsy prats.

Harry had had no choice but to ignore it, since breaking cover would get him shoved back into the house for the rest of the summer with no hope of reprieve.

As they enjoyed a simple lunch, Harry noticed that Draco still hovered near the entrance. Other things became obvious as Harry stared. The mussed hair that had always been perfect before, the rumpled clothes, the dark bags beneath Draco’s pale eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago.

Harry asked Tonks what had happened to Malfoy after his parents’ arrest. He’d simply assumed that Draco would be at his families estate, cared for by house-elves until the new school year. As it turned out, nothing could have been further from the truth.

Harry had been informed that, with the arrest of the Malfoys, Draco had been ejected from the estate with the clothes on his back and his wand. Word had it that the Ministry had no intention of hurrying the case regarding his family fortune, since the name Malfoy was now only slightly better regarded than the name Voldemort. Draco was on his own until school started.

Harry had found it rather like poetic justice…at least at first. But his eyes kept flicking back to the tired, hungry boy who still stared through the front window, watching others eat what he couldn’t purchase himself. Other, crueler, notions followed, each one biting deeper than the one before.

Draco may have been a prat, a coward, and a bully, but that day he had something in common with Harry for the first time. He was alone, without parents to care for him, and he was hungry. A minute before, he’d been laughing inside at the thought of Draco Malfoy being destitute, and then Harry thought of James Potter taunting and bullying Severus Snape. It was not a happy comparison.

Was Harry any better than his father had been? Snape couldn’t have been right when he said those things! Harry was many things, and mostly just a teenage boy with a large stack of problems, but he wasn’t cruel…and he wasn’t a bully. He would never be like the Dursleys…not even to Draco Malfoy. 

His mind was made up. Even if he didn’t actually pity Draco, he couldn’t stand by and watch the boy whose parents had been jailed by Harry’s testimony starve on the street. Harry slipped up to the bar under the pretense of fetching another Butterbeer, and slipped the barmaid a few Sickles, explaining that, when he left, she was to offer the boy outside a meal. Harry felt better than he had in days, knowing that he’d done the right thing. It wasn’t much, but it was something good and right that gave him a moment away from thinking of Sirius.

When they left the pub for the last of their errands, Harry saw the barmaid chatting with Draco, and saw the look of disbelief and flickering joy on the blond boy’s face when he was guided to a table and presented with a large bowl of stew and a loaf of fresh bread, complete with Butterbeer to wash it down with.

Diagon Alley was long behind them before Harry could get that look out of his mind. He knew that look well. He’d worn it on his own face at every Sorting feast after starving at the Dursleys each summer. He’d never seen it on anyone else’s face…until that day.

Of course, like anything that involved Draco Malfoy, the matter couldn’t just end there. Just by dint of being connected to Draco, it lingered and became more complicated.

Two weeks later, Harry was back in Diagon Alley. He had his keepers with him, but this time he had a plan. He’d kept tabs on the news from the Prophet, and quizzed friends on the status of the Malfoy case at the Ministry. Harry knew that Draco was still here, stuck at the Halfway Inn, out of money, and still two weeks from school.

Harry had brought his Cloak this time. He meant to see what Malfoy was up to, but more truthfully, he just wanted to see that Malfoy was alright. Moody trusted Harry a bit more than most, and Tonks was a pushover for Harry when he smiled and pleaded. Harry had pulled a stack of favors to get there, but he made it to the Halfway Inn, keepers downstairs, Cloaked and silenced, just to slip up to Malfoy’s room and see if he was still healthy.

It only took a whispered spell to pop the unwarded lock on the door of Draco’s room, and what Harry saw changed everything.

Draco’s room was a tidy little box, scarcely six feet by ten. A recently opened letter from Hogwarts lay on the bed, and Draco himself stood by the window, his back to Harry, oblivious to the recently opened door behind him. Draco wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Harry’s mind might have taken in the fine lines of his pale back, or the gentle arch of Draco’s neck, but those weren’t what stole Harry’s concentration away. 

Draco's ribs had started to show. He’d been slender in school, but this was the slenderness that came of starvation…this was slow death, and that wasn’t all. The back turned to Harry bore the marks of old pains. Mottled and faint scars that must have dated back over a year, and nearly healed bruises that could only have been from recent months. 

Harry knew what it meant to be cuffed and kicked and shoved about…but the marks on Draco suggested something much worse than anything the Dursleys had ever dished out. It was hard to stop himself from retching and breaking his cover. A sick curiosity overwhelmed Harry in that minute. Harry did the unthinkable…he quietly raised his wand and Legilimized Draco.

Draco’s mind was like butter, his will ruined by hunger and confusion. Harry pierced Draco’s memories with ease, and Draco slumped to the ground. With luck, Draco would simply assume he’d had a fainting spell. Harry, on the other hand, came away from Draco’s mind a few minutes later, and reeled away, stumbling down the hall, wishing he had never done anything so impetuous or stupid.

The things in Draco’s mind were not the kind of things meant to be witnessed, and Harry had seen much more than he had wanted. He had seen the flashing images of beatings beyond counting, felt his own heart leap in terror at the sound of Lucius’ enraged voice, and watched Draco, whom he had always seen as a spoiled brat, frantically strive to be colder and crueler, just to please a father he both feared and desperately craved affection from. He’d seen the shock on Draco’s face when the manor was closed and he was curtly ejected from the premises. He also saw Draco weep openly when he got his Hogwarts letter. 

Above everything, through the pain, the starvation, the isolation and fear, one thing held Draco Malfoy together. An unshakable pride that towered above his suffering, that kept him moving when malnutrition and shame might have slowed his steps. In spite of everything, Draco still possessed a pride that made him strive to endure any indignity, and he would die of hunger before that pride would reduce him to begging.

Harry fled Diagon Alley with Tonks and Moody in tow. He wouldn’t discuss what he’d done; he was too ashamed. He had violated Draco’s mind on a whim, and what he’d seen had been so very bitter. Guilt had gnawed at Harry the rest of the day, and when night finally came, his dreams became nightmares of a skeletal Draco’s accusing glare, implying that Harry was responsible for his death. By dawn, Harry had been a nervous wreck. 

He’d needed a way to make amends. What he’d done wasn’t merely illegal, it was also as unethical as anything a Death Eater might have done. Even if no one knew, he had to do something to make it right.

Thus had been hatched his ‘perfect plan’. He’d owled his orders to the appropriate stores, and discreetly insured that Malfoy’s meals would cost him far less than normal, thereby stretching Draco’s dwindling budget a little further.

All Malfoy had to do was show up to buy his school things, and the bill would be shunted to Harry’s account at Gringott’s. Surely Draco would at least attempt to get credit for his school needs? It seemed likely, and if Malfoy had just done that, all would have been well.

Naturally, Malfoy did MORE than that. He’d ferreted out the source of his good fortune and demanded an explanation! Now Harry was thoroughly screwed! The trip back to Grimmauld Place was a silent agony. He couldn’t share this. His friends would be floored when they heard what he’d done, and ashamed if he confessed why he’d done it. 

Harry threw himself into his room as soon as they returned, and buried himself in his blankets and pillows, just wishing the world, and its complications, would be gone when he woke up.


	3. Part 3

Secondhand Robes (part 3)…by Samayel

 

Just keep sneering. Everything is good. You look fine. No one will notice anything wrong. 

Draco entered the Hogwarts express with his dignity intact. To date, his cool expression of bored disdain had held up to scrutiny by several Slytherin classmates, who had asked after his summer, and sounded unconvinced by Draco’s glib answers.

Word had gotten out about Draco’s misfortunes, via the Prophet and the usual rumor mill, but it could be dealt with. He glossed over the details, making it all sound quite glamorous and dark, privately hoping that Potter had kept his big mouth shut. 

He’d shown up in new robes and with complete supplies, so if any Slytherins had intended to bring him down a peg, they had quickly backed off when they realized that Draco would be able to counter any claim of poverty. The acid test would be tonight in the commons, but for now, Draco had earned a ride to school in relative peace.

Draco strolled through the Express confidently, every step and every glare carefully schooled to hide his exhaustion. His stomach rumbled noisily every so often, but at least it seemed to behave when others were around…so far. He was near the back of the train, and still hadn’t found a compartment that was empty. Right now, what he wanted most was privacy, and a compartment of curious Slytherins would not grant him that.

Potter! Potter occupied an otherwise empty compartment, only two from the back of the train. Draco froze at the small window in the door, looking in on Potter. The dark haired boy was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, looking utterly morose. 

What could be better? If Potter didn’t feel like talking, he could flee…and that would leave Draco with an empty compartment and his privacy. Answers…or privacy…Draco won either way! It was simply too good to resist. Draco opened the door and slipped in, closing it behind him and locking it before he sat down.

Potter was gob-smacked. Delightful. Draco made himself comfortable, as if he sat down for a chat on the way to school with Potter every year, and enjoyed the other boy’s bulging eyes and nervous apprehension.

“Good summer?” Draco asked with a good-natured nonchalance that was artfully feigned.

Potter stared a minute longer, then nodded silent assent. Draco savored the tension. Slytherins lived for moments like this.

“Like the new look? Latest style at Malkin’s…not sure if I like the cut at the shoulders, though. What do you think?” Draco fought to hold back his smirk. A dumbstruck Potter was a perfect Potter. Draco might just get his privacy after all!

Harry’s eyes dropped to the floor and his cheeks pinked. “They look good. Sharp,” he half muttered.

Draco was on the edge of replying when Harry blurted out, “Malfoy…why are you here?”

“Oh, come on, Potter. Not this again. We went through this over ice cream last week. I’m here because I feel like it, and if I happen to have a few questions to ask, it’s hardly a big deal…is it?” 

“And if I really don’t want to talk about it?” Potter was staring at the floor.

“Well, I’m sure there’s a ‘question free’ compartment somewhere else. You didn’t think your little outburst meant that we had nothing to discuss, did you? That was a riddle…not an answer…and I hate riddles.”

Potter looked like he was getting a grip on himself, and Draco poised for opportunity. If he stayed here, some kind of understanding might come of this…and if Potter cracked…well Draco could have a comfy nap after the prat left!

Potter pushed his glasses further back onto his nose, and sighed with resignation. “Fine. Ask what you want.”

Draco was a little surprised, Potter was quite intractable about being questioned the last time they’d spoken. At least this time it wouldn’t be a scene in public.

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“No. No one. There are people who already knew you were in Diagon Alley, but no one knows about what I did.” Potter looked relieved. Maybe he considered the first question an easy one? That was alright…they would get tougher. Draco wasn’t done yet.

“There’s no such thing as a Slytherin that does something for someone without wanting something in return. I’m not saying that I don’t like the end result, but is there something you want for this?”

Potter looked genuinely cross! “NO! You weren’t even supposed to know it was me! I don’t want anything…except maybe my compartment back!”

“Merlin! So testy! Relax, Potter. That’s music to my ears. Believe me, I really don’t want to owe anyone, especially not you! You’re Gryffindor enough that I’ll buy that, but that leads to the big question, doesn’t it? Why? If you don’t want anything, why all the trouble? If you just tell me, we can agree to forget this ever happened, and go our own ways. So spill.”

Potter was actually trembling! Harry Potter was trembling! Draco almost flinched, as another explosion seemed imminent, and one wrong move could turn this in a direction he wouldn’t like. What the hell was wrong with Potter?

Suddenly, Draco’s stomach growled so loudly that there was no doubt as to whether Potter heard it or not. Draco flushed with embarrassment. His own body was betraying him, and the tension in the room was making him very dizzy. The sooner he got to the Sorting Feast the better.

Potter looked at Draco in silence after the ‘noise’, and then a weird look crossed Potter’s face. It looked like he’d grabbed a lifeline after jumping from a sinking ship and finding himself surrounded by sharks.

“I know what it means to be hungry, alright?” Potter blurted.

Draco flushed further. This really was taking an uncomfortable turn. Potter obviously knew more than he was saying. Plus, Potter was also hiding something under that statement. There was more at play here than a general concern for the welfare of Draco Malfoy’s stomach.

“What do you know, Potter? Fuck…how do you know, Golden Boy?” The last was said with his traditional sneer and sarcasm. He hadn’t mean to slip so easily, but he was shaky and off guard. Potter was beginning to get on his nerves.

“Just what I said! I’ve been hungry…really hungry before. I understand what that means.” Potter’s voice seemed almost plaintive. The prat was hoping Draco would take the bait and slide off topic. Nothing doing! Draco was pissed now and wanted answers.

“Yeah…well I don’t, but I mean to! Damn it, Potter! Just tell me why! Is it that fucking hard? How do you know how hungry I’ve been? Especially since it’s none of your damn business!” Draco no longer cared about the information…now he was just pissed and Potter was a place to vent.

Potter finally snapped. “Shut it, Malfoy! I can’t believe I even thought of doing you a favor! If I’d known that you’d fucking hound me like this I might have just let you starve!”

Draco felt a growl building in the back of his throat, but Potter jumped up and headed for the door. Draco let him leave in silence, but only because a shouted comment might be overheard while the door was open.

Draco fumed in silence, then relocked the door and waited for his stomach to stop aching. Honestly, he’d been holding up fine until Potter had raised the tension level. Worse…he was sure Potter was hiding something, and if Draco could tell, so could a few other clever students. This was not something he wanted spilled at some inopportune moment.

If the Ministry would ever just get on with it, Draco could pay Potter off and call it quits. If Potter would just get over his fucking neuroses, Draco could hatch a plan they could both follow to the letter, and their privacy would be guaranteed. Sadly, Potter ‘The Loose Cannon Who Lived’ wasn’t cooperating, and would probably fuck this up royally if left to his own devices.

The ride was interminably long, with just Draco, a heap of worries, and his rumbling stomach in a blessedly empty compartment. Eventually, he disembarked, and made sure to make a few vague comments in the right ears…by way of misdirection. The more cloudy the details of his summer were, the better.

The Sorting Hat did its job, although the process had never seemed to take so long! When the Sorting Feast finally began, it took every iota of Draco’s will not to wolf his food down or overload his plate in front of others. As it was, he ate at least three or four times more than he ever had in one sitting, and was suffering a bit of a belly ache by the time the dinner was over.

On the way out of the Great Hall, Draco gave Potter a determined and irritable glare, full of unspoken challenges. He’d made up his mind that, no matter much Potter tried to dodge the question, he would pin the prat down eventually and pry an answer out of him if necessary. Potter’s only response to Draco’s look of menace was a guilty blush and a quick return to staring at his plate. Good enough. Too much of a response would be a tip off to others. A certain modest hostility would at least keep the curious at bay for awhile.

Slytherin dorms had never looked so good. Save for the Malfoy estate, no place had ever felt more like home than Hogwarts. Draco lounged in the common room until almost midnight, carefully redirecting questions and side-stepping explanations. He was back in his element, his stomach was full, there was no need for money here, and only one horrible secret shared by Potter stood between Draco and a certain peace of mind. All in all, it was a good ending for the day, and a decent start to the school year.

Draco let his mind drift as he waited for sleep to come. His sixth year at Hogwarts had started, and it was already different from any other…and not in the way that was true for so many others! His hand drifted to his distended belly, slightly swollen from sudden satiation. His hand slipped a bit lower. For the first time in almost a month and a half, Draco had a familiar stiffness in his groin.

Most of the time, he found this merely annoying. A demand on his concentration when it was needed elsewhere. He hadn’t realized that he’d missed wanking…until near total starvation had stripped away his sex drive. Comfortable in his dorm bed, full, and lacking only one kind of relief, Draco ‘addressed the issue’.

In those fleeting seconds before his release, and the inevitability of slumber, the cruelest irony of all was born. Too tired to care, and too randy to give deeper thought to his idle fantasies, Draco never concerned himself with the flashing images that played across his mind’s eye. Sandwiched among the many flickering notions and impulses, was the warmth of slender limbs and tanned skin against his own, punctuated by the presence of brilliant green eyes.


	4. Part 4

Secondhand Robes (part 4)…by Samayel

 

‘Fuck all, how long can he keep this up?! He should have gotten the bloody point by now! This shite is driving me insane. He might be right…I don’t think I can hide forever!’

This was by far not Harry’s best year. Admittedly, no one had tried to kill him…yet, but Malfoy had been hounding Harry for weeks. An attempt on Harry’s life would have been a refreshing change of pace at this point! The ferret-faced, arrogant little bastard just wouldn’t quit.

No hallway was safe, unless Harry was surrounded by his friends. No journey to class was complete without Malfoy’s icy stare boring into Harry from one direction or another. Harry had taken to spending more time with his friends, instead of moping about alone, as an act of self defense.

He was only barely over Sirius’ death…though the memories still made his breath catch in his throat. His summer had been an empty hell, until Draco had given him something to think about other than his godfather. All Harry wanted was to get back to classes and drown himself in routine, thereby regaining something vaguely like a life. What had possessed him to get involved in ANYTHING related to Malfoy? He was certainly paying for it now!

Malfoy was practically everywhere. He must have acquired Harry’s class schedule…which would explain the sneaky little snake’s ability to pop up and demand a conversation almost every time Harry was alone. It had been necessary to start keeping his map and cloak handy in his book bag, just for emergency escapes! Harry was even beginning to develop a slight nervous twitch at the sight of blond hair!

The only thing that kept Harry on the run, as opposed to just giving Draco his answers, was the damning knowledge that, if he admitted all that he knew and all that he had done, Malfoy would have every right to be furious, and that would make this strife between them look like child’s play!

Almost a month had passed since their debacle on the train. Harry had nearly cracked then, desperate to let go of the secrets and lies, and just pay the price for his crime. He was guilty and he knew it…he’d had no right to violate Draco’s mind. He recalled all too well the words of Severus Snape, and the haunting doubts about his own morals had been nagging at him ever since. Apparently, rules really didn’t apply to Harry Potter, unless they were convenient.

This past month, Harry had had no peace, and no time alone, save in his bed with the curtains drawn. Tonight was no exception. Harry was beginning to tire of being constantly surrounded by people, and it was sheer relief to find himself alone just before he fell asleep. This was the only time he could quietly gather and pick apart his thoughts without interruption.

Sleep claimed Harry quickly, and that wasn’t surprising, given the amount of stress he’d been under lately. That, however, was not the end to his troubles.

Harry’s dream was a comfortable and pleasant one. Muzzy and disjointed after the fashion of dreams, but full of vague tension, and strangely nice in a way he couldn’t quite pin down.

He was walking the halls without worry, talking to friends and laughing. An empty corridor was ahead of him, and he had no fear of traveling it alone. 

At the end of the corridor, Draco Malfoy wore his predatory smile, all charm and sleek grace. Harry couldn’t remember the words, but they were talking…and it was warm…oddly warm, and tense, but not disagreeably so.

Malfoy’s smiles were genuine, and the hazy dream image of him was void of hostility. The dream shifted, and still at the mercy of his subconscious, Harry tossed and turned as well.

Some small remnant of his mind worried at the sudden realization that he was hugging Draco in his dream. It felt so very, very good. Warm, close and comfortable. For some inexplicable reason, Draco had no shirt…and neither did Harry! Their chests were pressed together, their arms were wrapped around one another, and Harry’s face was at rest against the velvet of Draco’s cheek…so warm, so close, so…

Harry woke violently, instantly aware of the trickle of moisture in his pajamas. He stared in disbelief at the evidence, and dropped his head back down onto his pillow with a half strangled sob.

‘I had a wet dream…over Malfoy. My life is officially ruined! Voldemort…kill me now…please?’ 

\------------------------------------------

Harry had never considered the possibility of being gay…at least not seriously. He knew what it meant, and he even knew of a few students who were, but it had always seemed like a condition of others…nothing Harry himself had ever felt. When ‘odd’ thoughts had crept up over the last couple of years, Harry had pushed them from the forefront of his mind to a safer place near the back, neatly avoiding the subject.

There had been little things, nothing obvious to others, but they were things that made a terrible sense in this new light. The way his cheeks had always pinked and he’d quickly made himself look away whenever another guy was naked near him, and the few times that he hadn’t looked away quick enough, the images of another boy’s naked body lingered so long in Harry’s mind. 

Charlie Weasley. During the year of the Tri-wizard Tournament, he’d come stay at the Burrow at the same time as Harry, albeit only briefly. Harry had stepped out of his room to use the bathroom one morning, opened the door and found himself facing six feet of scarred, muscled redhead. Harry hadn’t been able to stop staring, flustered though he had been. Charlie was blessedly polite, and simply grabbed a towel and left, apologizing for hogging the loo. Harry had told himself it was normal to admire Dragon Tamers. They were a breed apart, who wouldn’t admire them?

Oliver Wood. Harry had all but worshipped his teacher and Captain. With the exception of expecting Harry to play through any danger, Oliver had been protective, patient and kind to Harry. After life with the Dursleys, why wouldn’t Harry have been fond of him? The fact that he’d often wished he could hug Oliver had just been passed off as a simple expression of his respect for his friend and Captain. Harry suddenly knew better. Oliver was handsome, and funny, and Harry had, rather innocently, pined for his attention, pushing himself as much as possible to play Quidditch in a way that would impress Oliver.

There were other things as well. Girls had simply left Harry nervous and horribly embarrassed, but utterly void of feeling. Not that he didn’t like them, they were nice to talk to and all, but he’d never really wanted to snog a girl before! He was sixteen years old, and still a virgin, who hadn’t done more than a few quick and tension riddled kisses with girls he hadn’t been terribly excited over.

Harry closed his eyes. When he thought of kissing Oliver, or Charlie, his heart raced, his world contracted, and he felt the first pangs of actual lust and a hungry curiosity for more. There wasn’t any point in kidding himself anymore, there was nothing discreet about the damp stain on the front of his pajamas. He was queer. A bender. A pouf. All those other names were for him as well. Harry was gay. That distressing reality was completely overshadowed by another, far more threatening truth.

He had it bad for Malfoy. Was his life before this year so uncomplicated that he needed that piled on? Was this as bad as things could get, or, having struck bottom, would Harry find a shovel and dig for a new low?

It was the need for a little private time that guided Harry. He had more than enough to think about. He grabbed his cloak, dressed quickly and slipped out. The halls were chilly, despite the fact that it wasn’t quite fall yet, and the cool was actually quite refreshing after the disturbing ‘warmth’ of Harry’s dreams.

The Astronomy Tower was a popular place on the weekends, but on a Tuesday night, at four in the morning, no one was about, and that suited Harry just fine.

Malfoy. It always came back to Draco Malfoy. In Malkin’s robe shop, Harry still recalled meeting Draco for the first time. The cheerful, confident, self-possessed little blond boy had made him feel nervous and terribly inadequate. How nice that some things hadn’t changed much over the years! 

Harry paced while he mused. Draco had gotten handsome as he’d gotten older. The baby fat had left his cheeks, the roundness of his face had been planed to strong lines, and he was perhaps an inch taller than Harry, albeit a bit thinner now. He liked the way Draco looked, except when his mouth was open! Still, when Malfoy was at least trying to be polite, he was…well…kind of gorgeous.

He always thought he’d known Malfoy well enough. Cruel, self serving, viper tongued, sneaky and cowardly. Nothing had prepared him for seeing the world through Draco’s eyes, while sifting through Draco’s mind.

If Draco was afraid, he hid it well, but with a father like that, who wouldn’t be afraid all the time. Draco craved approval from his father, yet hated the man utterly. He was terribly insecure, and as nervous as a high strung, if well bred, horse. Draco was a bundle of raw nerves, and…and…when the hell did he become Draco? Not Malfoy any longer. Harry looked out the window and sighed.

‘I am so well and rightly screwed it isn’t even funny. At least it can’t get worse than this!’

“STUPEFY!” Draco’s voiced echoed through the Astronomy Tower.

Harry felt himself losing consciousness despite his best effort to fight the spell off.

‘Ha ha. Very funny. Irony sucks!’

And then everything was quiet and black.

 

TBC


	5. Part 5

Secondhand Robes (part 5)…by Samayel

 

Draco stood triumphantly at the entrance to the Astronomy Tower. The crumpled form of Harry Potter lay before him, and with a few hasty spells, there would be no running away from Draco this time!

It had been a tough trick to pull off, and had required discreet low level wards, tuned only to Potter, at key entryways about the castle, to alert Draco about Harry’s movements. Finally, after weeks of following the spectacled twit around the castle, Draco had finally sensed a late night excursion by Harry, triggering his hidden wards.

Harry had been staring out the window, paying no attention at all, when Draco had finally arrived and taken position behind a pillar. A few seconds to steel his nerve, and Draco finally tagged Harry with a perfectly rendered ‘Stupefy’. He’d had to cast a quick ‘Leviosa’ right after, to keep Harry from crashing to the ground, and as soon as he had Potter at rest on the stone floor, he followed up with a full ‘Body Bind’, just to make sure ‘The Boy Who Lived’ didn’t slip away.

The prat had been hard to catch, too! Draco wasn’t taking chances this time. If Harry had been any slipperier, he’d likely have been sorted into Slytherin by default. This was, to Draco’s way of thinking, the highest praise he could offer a worthy opponent.

Draco made himself comfortable, sitting down beside Harry’s head, and prepared to remove the spell. He paused a moment, looking at his elusive prey.

At rest, Harry Potter was quite child-like in his slumbering innocence. None of the tension and suspicion existed now, and the boy’s face was slack and unlined by worry.

Draco watched the slow rise and fall of Harry’s chest, the flutter of eyelids and small movements of Harry’s mouth. The unruly thatch of dark hair just cried out for a comb, and Draco found himself suddenly quelling the inexplicable urge to brush it down himself.

The reverie ended when Draco remembered that his spells wouldn’t last forever. He placed Harry’s wand a few feet away, for safety’s sake, and ended the spell that had knocked Harry out.

Behind those atrocious glasses, emerald orbs flicked open, wide and searching, taking in the scene as well as the situation. Potter struggled against the Body Bind to no avail, and eventually relaxed, his head back on the stone floor, glaring at Draco furiously. All Draco heard was a muttered curse, and Potter went silent, lips clamped tightly shut with fury, face wrinkled with anger and frustration. 

“How was that again, Potter? I thought you said something…”

“I said…’fucking irony’, and that’s all I’m going to say.” 

“I beg to differ. You have no idea how hard you are to track down. I can see how you got away from the Dark Lord all those times, when you don’t want to be found, you make it a real job to find you. After all that effort, I’m not leaving or removing those spells until I get some answers.” Draco smiled with satisfaction. Even Potter had to see that he was in no position to bargain at the moment.

“Well, I reckon it’ll be a long night, seeing as I have nothing to say to you, and I’m pretty comfortable right here. Have a good night!” Harry stared at the ceiling, trying rather obviously to look bored.

“Potter. Do you, of all people, really think that I would invest all this effort, then come unprepared for resistance?”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Draco for a second, then back to the ceiling. A faint sheen of nervous sweat appeared on Harry’s upper lip and brow.

Draco removed a bottle from his robe, and placed it beside Harry’s head. Then he drew his wand and twirled it about with amusement.

“Dealer’s choice, Potter. Since I feel a certain gratitude for your un-requested assistance, I will refrain from the traditional Unforgivables. You can have this one of two ways…Legilimency…or Veritaserum. How do you want it?” Draco’s smile was that of a snake finding a new hatched chick. This was more fun than he had imagined.

Potter’s eyes widened suddenly. His struggle to move at least one muscle began again in earnest, but without success. When he collapsed again, a stream of vitriolic curses crossed his lips.

“You fucking prick bastard…you wouldn’t dare! Do you know what I’ll do to you when I get loose? What if anyone else finds out? You’ll fucking go down in flames, Malfoy! You’re fucking daft…loony…nutters…”

“Shhh…Potter…if you wake the castle cursing like that I’ll have to be a little more inventive about the questioning process. I don’t want to silence everything but the two of us and make this really unpleasant, but believe me…I’m a Malfoy…if you force my hand, you will regret it. So what’s it going to be? Do I rummage through your head like a flea market, or do I dope you until you tell me everything you know…which, by the way, for a Gryffindor, takes an average of approximately thirty seconds…a little longer for Granger…maybe. Clock’s ticking, Potter. Tick…tock…tick…tock.”

Harry looked livid…and more than just a little bit dangerous. Draco was never so glad that he’d practiced long and hard at hexes, curses and jinxes. The Body Bind would hold as long as it had to, and Potter was at his mercy, but Heaven forbid he got loose somehow. His face was almost a mask of rage. 

Draco mused a moment, ‘He does look kind of cute when he’s really pissed.’ Then he shook his head, wondering why such a thing would even occur to him at a time like this.

Shadows and light flickered in the entry hall, and Draco turned and listened carefully in alarm. Not now! Hobnail boots were shuffling and the creak of an old lantern was clearly audible. Had to be Filch!!

Potter frowned, but hissed to Draco suddenly, “By the window…feel around…my cloak is there. It can cover us, but hurry.”

Draco wrinkled his brow in confusion. “What the hell are you on about? I don’t see a cloak, and what good would…” 

“Invisibility Cloak…you prat! Get over there and feel the floor under the window…now!”

Draco hurried to the window, and sure enough, his fingers found silky cloth where nothing appeared to be. He ran back to Potter and whirled the cloak over the both of them, huddling close to Potter’s prone form. Not a second too soon, either, for Argus Filch wandered into the room, muttering curses and squinting mightily as he peered at the shadows and corners, desperately hoping to find a student he could punish.

“They think they’re clever…the lot of them. Gone soft they have. Oh…what I wouldn’t give to have me pillory back. Or just the bastinado! Anything! Shameful…shameful when you can’t even peel the hides off one or two of the little wretches. Just for an example! Hmmph!”

The surly git drifted about the room, missing them by only a few feet, then, contented, Filch turned and headed back to the hall and stairs. Draco allowed himself to breath again…collapsing with relief. That was much too close for comfort!

Speaking of comfort, it suddenly occurred to Draco that, in the haste for cover, he had been straddling Potter’s waist, and was currently at rest, catching his breath, with his head on Potter’s chest. Draco jerked his head up and scrambled off of Potter’s waist.

“Good save. Nice cloak, Potter. Handy, very handy.” Anything to change the subject. Draco really didn’t feel like dissecting the weird comfort he had felt, being so close to Potter. Hopefully, Potter wouldn’t feel like discussing that, either. Then Potter spoke up.

“Since I just saved our collective asses, despite being spelled helpless…how ‘bout just letting me go back to my dorm?” 

Draco paused for just a second, feeling just generous enough that he really considered it. Then he shook his head. He sat down beside Potter again.

“Here’s a thought. Just to prove I’m not a complete bastard. Potter, if you’ll just tell me what you knew about my summer, and why you decided you needed to butt in, I promise I won’t use anything against you, and we can skip the Veritaserum and the Legilimency altogether. Better?”

Potter closed his eyes in frustration and sighed mightily. When he finally answered, his voice was low and serious, and held a plaintive, intimate tone that Draco had never heard from Potter before.

“Draco, I really think you mean that. I believe you. I just don’t want to talk about it. I made a mistake. It was my mistake and nobody else’s, and I’m the one who paid for it. I’ll never tell anyone what I know about this summer…you have my word. If you had your answers, they wouldn’t make you any happier, and I know there’s no way I can convince you of that, but it’s still true. I’m begging you. Okay? Please just trust me. Just this once. I’ll give you my oath, and then let’s forget this. Please.”

Somehow, in Draco’s imagination, having Harry Potter helpless and begging had always been more satisfying. This was just tense, vaguely frightening, and terribly disappointing. Draco thought quietly for almost a minute, genuinely unsure of what to do. Potter had called him by his first name, and seemed so deadly serious that it was hard not to believe him. Draco almost folded. Almost. He couldn’t look Potter in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, Harry. Don’t take it personally. Legilimens.” 

And he was in Harry’s mind.

 

TBC


	6. Part 6

Secondhand Robes (part 6)…by Samayel

 

A little dark haired boy, with cheap, poorly repaired glasses, shuffled about a Muggle kitchen, standing on a chair when occasion demanded he reach something too high up for him. His clothes were an abomination of leftovers that hung loosely off an underfed body, and despite being too young and too small by half, he was cooking breakfast as best he could.

Surly Muggles entered, and promptly stuffed themselves on a feast, only pausing to speak ill of the boy who had done all the work. Their piggy eyes watched him constantly, waiting eagerly for him to do something they could criticize or punish.

The fat man saw the way the boy was eyeing the last few sausages, as well as the last of the toast and jam. Even though he had just stuffed himself to bursting, the great clod sneered and stared at the boy while he nibbled away at the last of the food, making certain that nothing was left behind.

As the family filed out, the boy cleared the table and washed the dishes. As soon as the Muggles had left, the little boy grabbed a sliver of discarded toast crust and rubbed it across the plates, gathering the last hints and crumbs of the food he’d watched but not tasted. Shaking with hunger, the boy looked like he would cry from joy when he tasted the mish mash of flavors attached to that crust of bread. Eggs, sausage, jam…evidently these were things the boy only tasted in secrecy, and even then only the most minute portions.

The fat man stepped back into the room and promptly exploded with outrage. The boy was literally pulled off the ground by his hair, slapped and cuffed repeatedly, and rudely shoved into a tiny cupboard beneath the stairs.

Locked in darkness, Harry Potter wept quietly, clutching his stomach, trying to remember how good that snatched morsel had tasted, and wishing he had gotten his hands on just a little more.

Draco was horrified by what he saw, but couldn’t pull himself away. He could feel Harry’s mind struggling against intrusion, and was surprised, not having known that Harry was familiar with Occlumency. The struggle to stay in Harry’s mind brought Draco back to his purpose, and he pressed on, despite his horror at what he had witnessed.

Flickering images of Harry’s childhood flashed before him, and Draco’s sense of revulsion grew with each one he saw. Dumbledore’s Golden Boy, the cosseted Hero Who Lived, was little more than a house-elf to the people who had raised him. Draco had endured two years of his father’s madness, and two months of privation that had been terrible in the extreme, but Potter’s childhood had apparently been a lifetime sentence in hell.

Hurled epithets, beatings, starvation, threats and labor. Draco dragged himself through with an effort of will, still trying to reach his goal, despite the rising nausea that cramped his body. All the while, he could feel Potter’s mind twisting and turning, trying desperately to expel Draco. At last, he found snippets of the present day, and went to work in earnest.

Harry was staring through the window of a Diagon Alley pub, disguised by Glamours, wolfing down a sandwich, and watching Draco through a window. Potter’s lip curled in amusement for less than a second, and then he stared soberly a few minutes, lost in thought. Potter chatted with his companions, and hearing of the seriousness of Draco’s situation, slipped off to make a deal with the barmaid.

Draco pushed forward again, sifting through day to day memories, until Diagon Alley appeared again…and this time Harry was entering the Halfway Inn.

Harry looked into the room whose locks he had spelled away, and saw first hand the squalor in which Draco dwelt. Worse, he looked upon Draco’s back, something which Draco had not bothered to hide by Glamour, as he thought he was alone. No one had ever seen the marks his father’s cane had left on him…until Harry.

Potter raised his wand…and Legilimized Draco! Draco watched himself crumple and fall, already exhausted from hunger, unable to muster a defense of any worth. Potter didn’t look like he even believed his own nerve. Seconds later, he turned and stumbled down the stairs, fleeing the Halfway Inn and Draco. Then the owls and letters flew, deals were struck, notions made real and accounts made ready. This…this was why Harry had done what he’d done.

Draco was preparing to pull away, when he caught the snippet of a dream. It was the memory of a dream in which he featured quite prominently. A dream where Harry wanted nothing more than to hold him close, and be held by him. The image shifted faintly; Dream-Harry and Dream-Draco wore no shirts, and the lean, dark haired boy was softly nuzzling Dream-Draco’s neck.

Draco snapped away from Harry’s mind with a gasp. Reality flooded in around him, and while Draco held his throbbing head, Potter was half-conscious on the floor, tears leaking down either side of his face.

Draco slid down to his knees, massaging his temples, trying to drive away the agony that accompanied a difficult Legilimization. His stomach clenched from dry heaves, and try though he might, he couldn’t drive the stolen images of Potter’s childhood away. 

He suddenly realized that Potter was not the only one crying. Draco had never used Legilimency on another person before. It had been practiced at his father’s behest, but never used. He’d had no idea that it would be like this. He felt dirty, ashamed, and terribly ill. Potter’s voice snapped him out of his sorry state…and back to the reality of what he’d just done.

“Draco,” Potter croaked, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. Now you know. I just wanted to make it right. I didn’t want anything from you. I just wanted you to be okay. Nobody deserves to starve like that. I just want you to know…I admired your strength then. A lot of other people would have fallen apart.”

“Can’t…I…my head…” Draco’s vision was still off a bit, but his headache was quickly centering behind his right eye. He unstoppered the bottle he had left on the floor while Potter watched in apprehension. Then Draco drained the contents in one long gulp.

“What are you doing?! Draco, that’s Verita…”

“Relax, Potter,” Draco answered gruffly. “It’s a headache cure. You don’t think Snape leaves the ingredients for controlled substances where I can get at them do you? He’s Slytherin, remember? I just used the Veritaserum threat as a bluff. I wanted leverage, not a sentence to Azkaban. Gimme a minute…please. It hurts like hell.”

Harry closed his eyes while he waited. He knew everything that Draco had seen. His face burned with humiliation.

He knows! He knows about the dream. I’m ruined…completely ruined. Just when the fucking notion of seeing him now and again looked kind of good, he had to see that! I should have known better. I should have…

“Potter.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked to Draco hopelessly. Draco sat beside him, holding his knees to his chest, still looking vaguely ill. Harry waited, half afraid of what Draco might do next, now that he’d seen the truth.

“Potter. I…I’m sorry.” Draco wiped vaguely at his eyes, refusing to look straight at his still prone victim. 

“I didn’t know. I didn’t imagine. I…your family…they…I had no right to…” Draco tried to shake his head and clear the images of violence and degradation from his skull, but nothing worked.

Harry was astounded. Draco…Draco fucking Malfoy!…had just apologized…with sincerity! There was just no precedent for an event like that. Harry leaped on the chance for damage control.

“Accepted…on one condition.” Draco finally looked at him with mingled guilt and curiosity. “You forgive me…for doing that to you. I wasn’t even thinking when I did it. I saw your back and I just needed to know what happened to you. I didn’t think about how it would feel after…knowing. If I’d known…I never would have done it. Do you forgive me?”

Draco nodded morosely, still haunted by images of another’s pain. “Forgiven. Finite.” Draco removed the Body Bind with a flick of his wand and held out his hand.

“We tell no one. Ever. Just go on with our lives, and treat this like it never happened. Okay?” Draco’s hand was still open and waiting.

Harry reached for the hand he’d refused so many years ago, and let Draco help him up. His knees buckled for a second when he stood, and a wave of dizziness hit him (the cruel after effects of being Legilimized.) Draco caught him beneath the shoulders and pulled him back up, steadying Harry until he recovered.

They looked at each other suddenly, both their eyes wide with mixed surprise and uncertainty. Harry’s dream played through both their thoughts as their eyes met and locked, each trying to read the other’s intentions.

Draco stepped back first, looking away nervously, and began to gather the evidence of their meeting; pocketing his empty bottle and handing Harry his cloak and wand.

“I…I have to go. I guess. I’ll…see you around.”

Harry folded the cloak across his arm while Draco hesitantly turned and began to walk away. His heart was pounding in his chest like a bass drum. He sighed and walked back to the window, now burdened with new thoughts that needed careful examination. He was surprised when he heard Draco’s voice again.

“Pot…Harry?” Draco stood at the doorway, looking weirdly angelic and demonic in the flickering torchlight of the hall.

Harry turned with a start, his breath caught in his throat.

“The robes…the books and everything. Thank you. Just…well thanks.” 

Then, quite inexplicably, Draco ducked his head as if embarrassed, and hurried out and down the stairs. When the footfalls were gone, Harry was still standing by the window, trying to make sense of all the madness he’d taken in so quickly.

In just a single crazy hour in the middle of the night, Draco had attacked him, Legilimized him, apologized to him, shook his hand, and thanked him. He hadn’t said a word about the dream, but Harry had the oddest feeling that it had been at forefront of Draco’s mind all along. And something about that made Harry’s heart skip a beat in his chest.

The trip back to Gryffindor tower had never seemed so long, and, even tired, sleep came but slowly, haunted by dreams of gray eyes and soft hands.


	7. Chapter 7

Secondhand Robes (part 7)…by Samayel

 

‘Potter likes me. Potter is gay. Potter is gay and likes me. He likes me ’that way’. Not just a little. Enough to dream about snogging me.’

Draco sat on the edge of his bed, looking at his reflection in the mirror across from him. Those thoughts had been snapping at his heels like a starving puppy since that night in the Astronomy Tower. If anyone else had heard them aloud, they would have laughed themselves sick, but never believed it.

It had been weeks, and the first holidays were almost upon them. Draco’s case at the Ministry hadn’t been resolved yet, and frankly, he had no choice but to stay at Hogwarts. It was an unpleasant notion to say the least. Staying behind was for the children whose families were dead, too busy to care about seeing their child, or in Draco’s case, imprisoned in Azkaban for collusion with the Dark Lord. The social ladder scarcely existed for such students, and Draco had shrouded his holiday plans in secrecy because of that.

Hogwarts life had been very different for Draco of late. Aside from having only slight difficulty with his reputation in Slytherin, his studies were going easily, his Quidditch game was well above par, and Snape had bequeathed him a very small weekly stipend that he could spend in Hogsmeade when the opportunity arose. There was nothing to complain about…except the Ministry, but that never changed.

The fly in the ointment was Potter. There was nothing wrong between them…and that itself felt wrong. Quite the opposite, they actually got on fairly well…for a Potter and a Malfoy. It was subtle, and scarcely noticeable to others, but very different from any other year.

When they passed one another in the halls, they had hidden smirks instead of sneers on their faces. Not motivated by cruel comments or disdain, but now fed by an ironic camaraderie and a faint mutual respect that grew week by week.

The subject on Draco’s mind never came up. His knowledge of Potter’s dream was a constant reminder of what he’d done, and the memory still shamed him. He wasn’t about to clumsily Obliviate himself and risk damaging his own brain, but there had been moments where he’d wished he could tell Snape everything, and beg to have it all taken from his mind.

Only Potter knew what that was like. It was one thing to suffer, it was another to watch someone else suffer as you have. What Harry had seen in Draco’s mind had haunted him until he’d been forced to act, trying to assuage his guilt. Draco had promptly suffered the same fate, and had only recently been able to sleep without Calming Potions or minor Charms that warded off nightmares.

The dreams had been horrifying in the extreme. Watching a child-Potter dehumanized and savagely beaten by his Muggle relations had made sleep almost impossible for the first couple weeks after their night in the Tower. He’d been forced to consult Harry, discreetly, about ways to cope with the memories and dreams.

The few times they’d actually spoken to one another, Harry’s dream was never mentioned, but it still loomed in Draco’s memory despite weeks having passed. The conversations had been pleasant enough, though, and Potter had seemed genuinely helpful.

Draco sighed and looked at his mirror again. The boy in the mirror looked healthier and happier than he had two months before, and his skin had much better color, but there was still something gnawing at Draco’s sense of comfort and contentment. For once…it wasn’t money or power. Unfortunately, it was Potter.

Draco had been quite comfortable with his sexuality, or rather, the lack of it. He’d snogged Pansy Parkinson, without gagging, a couple of times, and then Queenie Greengrass, and finally Blaise Zabini last year, but it could all be attributed to the rather excessive nature of Slytherin parties.

He’d never had a real girlfriend, and hadn’t really wanted one. He liked Blaise well enough, but it had been a game of truth or dare, not an intentional snog, rooted in actual desire. He couldn’t really recall wanting a boyfriend either. At least, not consciously.

He was completely at peace with the notion of bisexuality…Slytherin was likely the most sexually advanced House in Hogwarts, and liberal views regarding sex partners was par for the course. What seemed vaguely filthy and perverted to Draco…was lusting after Potter. Perhaps that was part of what made it so enticing?

The Boy Who Lived…dreamed about Draco Malfoy, and now…Draco Malfoy dreamed about Harry Potter. It wasn’t anything Draco had planned, which instantly set him against the notion, but in the cold light of reason, Potter wasn’t really that bad of a catch. A penniless Death Eater’s son could do a lot worse than Potter, after all.

Draco huffed in frustration. Mooning about over Potter! Hmmph! It had become a nightly ritual, often followed by another nightly ritual…the obligatory pre-sleep wank, which Harry had invaded like an ant colony, overwhelming all opposition by sheer presence and persistence. It’s hard to ignore someone when their face, their eyes, and their voice keep creeping into your ‘private time’, and Harry had done just that.

Draco had finally made up his mind. Potter needed sorting out…and they would have a full week without classes, and scarcely more than a few classmates, in the way of their spending time together. There would never be a better window of opportunity to…to…

‘Sweet fucking Merlin. I’m going to ask Harry Potter for a date. Note to self: ask Snape for a very thorough mental and psychological exam…soon!’

\-----------------------------------------

 

Harry strolled serenely though Hogwarts’ halls. Despite a rough start, this had been a fairly decent year so far. His issues with Draco were largely resolved, NEWTS level classes were keeping him busy, no one had tried to kill him yet…all in all, a pretty great year really. 

Of course, it didn’t take much to top the previous year. Tortured by that mad, fat, old cow Umbridge, no Quidditch, and Sirius getting killed at the Ministry meant that, essentially, Harry could spend this entire year dipped in dragon dung and lit on fire…and it would still be better than the last one.

The best part of his general good humor came from getting on well with Draco. In spite of all that Harry had expected, Draco hadn’t teased him or insulted him about the dream…and still occasionally talked to him, although it was always rather business-like. It certainly beat trading insults constantly.

Harry knew that nothing more would come of it, and if he didn’t exactly have a friend in Draco, he didn’t have an enemy anymore, and that counted for a lot. Would he want more if he thought it was possible? Maybe…but something like that seemed like a glimpse of another universe, with some impossible distance between that place and where Harry stood now.

He planned to spend his holiday at Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order. He hadn’t been back to the Dursleys, and likely never would be. Anywhere he went was better than there.

Harry paused. He’d been so busy just living, that he’d never considered what his childhood would look like to someone else. It was frightening to think that the things in his head had hurt Malfoy so much. Draco had never said it, but it passed unspoken between them that Draco’s sleeping problems were rooted in the memories he’d witnessed in Harry’s mind. Somehow, it just made him hate the Dursleys more than ever. 

It hadn’t seemed that bad when he’d thought it was just ‘the way things were’, but Harry knew better now, and he’d never let anyone like them hurt him that way again.

It also occurred to Harry that, after all his misgivings, the one thing that made him think of Draco as a person, and a decent one at that, was Draco’s reaction to what he’d seen. Sure, Draco had only seen those things by violating Harry’s mind, but there was nothing feigned about Draco’s behavior afterwards. Until that night, he wouldn’t have believed that Draco was capable of sincerity…or even basic kindness for that matter, but Draco had surprised him in a lot of ways. There was a lot more beneath that peacock-vain, strutting surface than most people would ever know, and Harry was proud to be one who knew that there was more.

‘Speak of the devil, and he appears.’

Draco was on his way down the hall, smirk firmly in place, confident swagger in his step, and his eyes brightened just a bit when he saw Harry coming the other way.

“Potter, we need to talk. Got a few minutes?” It was still so odd to hear a question from Malfoy that wasn’t laced with venom.

“Yeah, sure. Where?”

“Spare classroom, this floor, end of the hall just before the stairs. No one uses that one, so it should be safe enough.” 

Since there was no one else in the hall with them, they walked together, still silent, but Harry was being eaten alive by curiosity. The couple of minutes walk felt more like hours.

Once they were safe behind a locked and silenced door, Draco found a seat and took it, beckoning for Harry to do the same. When Harry was seated and facing him, Draco coughed and launched into what felt vaguely like a rehearsed speech, right down to his haughty and peremptory tone.

“Sorry to drag you off so suddenly, but I have a question, or rather, a proposition for you. We get on well enough these days, right?” Harry nodded, uncertain about where this was going.

“Likewise, we’ve got a bit more in common than we thought, as it turns out, and there are a few things we really haven’t talked about as much as we could have.”

Harry felt panic creep up. ‘Oh God! He’s going to talk about the dream. He’s not comfortable around me because of it. He wants to stop talking altogether. Fuck! I barely know him…why does it feel like I just got punched in the stomach? Why?’

“Anyhow, I was just thinking that conversation goes a lot better with some good food and drink, and if you a had a free night sometime before the holidays, we could slip into town and just have a bite to eat together while we talked. Sound any good?”

“Mrrphl.”

“How’s that? I wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no?” Draco looked a little worried.

Harry got control of himself and let a single explosive breath out. “Yes…yes…that’s great! I’d love to…any night you want.” He stopped talking before he wound up sounding any giddier.

“So…Friday night, maybe you could meet me at the Three Broomsticks…about seven o‘clock? I’ve got a bit saved up, so this one’s my treat…game?” Draco relaxed visibly.

“Yeah! It’s done. I’ll meet you there…umm, I have to hurry, study session with ‘Mione. Advanced Transfiguration and all, but I’ll see you there.” Harry begged off as quick as possible, anything would be better than transfiguring himself into a gibbering moron in front of Draco right now.

They parted company and went their separate ways. When Harry made it close enough to Gryffindor tower to be sure of a modicum of privacy, he snapped out of his daze and let loose a war whoop that would have made a homicidal Celt cringe in fear. All the way to his room, Harry’s mind rang with a simple mantra.

‘Draco Malfoy likes me. The way I like him. I have a date…with Draco Malfoy. Life is perfect!’

 

TBC


	8. Part 8

Secondhand Robes (part 8)…by Samayel

 

Harry had spent the last couple of days on pins and needles, anxious for Friday evening to hurry and arrive. It was a wonderful new feeling, this exquisite tension that filled him, distracting him from studies (for which he was grateful) and putting a spring in his step. There was a certain wonderful confidence that came from knowing that someone liked you, and Harry enjoyed that confidence to the fullest.

Unfortunately, the change in Harry’s demeanor had not gone completely unnoticed. While most of his classmates simply assumed that Harry had finally relaxed and was just enjoying a good mood, Hermione had known better.

Harry’s unwillingness to talk about the source of his good cheer had peaked her curiosity, and before the week was out, she’d figured it for herself and had confronted him quietly. 

She’d taken his partial confession at face value, even though he heavily edited parts of it, but she had great difficulty accepting that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t show his true colors as soon as he got whatever he wanted. Only Harry’s insistence that he knew Draco better than most of Slytherin dissuaded her from a threatened intervention. He hadn’t divulged what he’d seen over the summer, but he had implied that his truce with Draco was rooted in some common experiences and conversations over the past two months.

Hermione had grudgingly agreed to keep silent, and run interference by keeping others from learning the truth. She wouldn’t lie if someone already knew the truth, but she would at least divert attention and allay suspicion when she could. That would have to be good enough.

Draco had been as quiet as usual the last couple days, showing no outward sign that he had an assignation with Harry. It was an impressive display of Draco’s self control, but at least his friendly smirk was still in place when no one else was watching. Today, he’d even given Harry a full on smile and a conspiratorial nod in the hall on the way to class. Harry’s stomach had been fluttering ever since.

‘So this is what a crush feels like. I never understood why people said they had ‘butterflies’ in their stomach before. I still can’t believe I have them for Draco Malfoy. This is so weird.’

Weird, but wonderful nonetheless. Now he just had to survive the actual date itself. Harry had finished his classes for the day, and was fussing over his clothes for the first time in…well, ever.

He didn’t really have any formal clothes, and the closest thing he had to casual clothes were his jeans and T-shirts. At least he had some that were clean and fit well. A year ago he hadn’t even had that, and after hiding with the Order this summer, he’d only managed to shop for himself once.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror and grimaced. It would have to do. It was cursedly strange, suddenly caring about how he looked just because he’d be meeting Malfoy tonight. If the notion of dining across a table from Draco seemed uncomfortable, the recurring thoughts of what it would be like to actually snog him were ruinous!

There was nothing to be done for it. His time had been eaten up searching for the ‘right’ jeans and T-shirt, fighting his seemingly unfixable hair, and checking himself in the mirror. This was his first actual date, and he had no intention of being late. Harry gathered his nerve and left with just a little time to spare.

\--------------------------------------------------

 

Draco arrived at The Three Broomsticks a full half hour early, and ensured that the small table in the back, largely obscured by shadows and ideal for romantic couples, was open and ready, as he had reserved it just for this dinner.

Not that he was gushing with Hufflepuff sentimentality, but Malfoys, poor or no, never did anything halfway. If he was going to take Harry Potter out for dinner, it would be done in true Malfoy fashion, and nothing less would do. It had cost almost every Knut of his stipend from Snape, but at least no one would ever suggest that Draco was a cheap date.

Draco sauntered up to the bar and inquired after his table. Assured that it was ready and waiting, he asked for Mr. Potter to be directed to it as soon as he arrived. The barman nodded assent, and Draco made his way to the table and got comfortable.

He ordered a glass of wine, and as soon as he felt at ease, sure that he looked the perfect picture of the waiting suitor, he was interrupted by an unpleasant fellow in non-descript clothes.

“Still your father’s son, eh? The Master will be pleased. You’ve lured Potter out of hiding when no one else could have. Well done, little dragon.”

Draco bit back his sense of horror. A fucking Death Eater in Hogsmeade. He must have been sent to keep tabs on Potter’s movements. The bastard had overheard Draco at the bar and assumed the worst, but at least that left room to turn things to his advantage. Draco’s mind and pulse raced while he answered on the fly.

“I’ve done my part. He’ll be here soon. Will the Master want him tonight, or shall we bide our time?” Draco privately prayed that his eyes wouldn’t betray his terror.

“If he’s out and untended tonight, bring him to the alley behind here when you leave. Do what you must to convince him, but get him there. He should be easy to take if he’s unready, and I’ll Apparate him to our Master’s redoubt.”

Draco sneered as evilly as he could manage. “We’ll Apparate together, you mean. I want my share of the credit. I’ve managed where even my father failed, and I mean to gain from it!”

The ugly bloke gave a gap toothed and cruel grin. “So very much your father’s son. Good enough. The Dark Lord’s largesse will be for the both of us. See to your end of it, I’ll be waiting.” With that, the man turned and left, slipping out a side door and into the alley.

Draco felt the bile rising in his throat. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to run and never stop, he wanted anything but to be the reason Harry was in danger. If something happened, who would believe he hadn’t planned it from the start? This was a complete disaster!

When he was younger, and the Dark Lord’s influence hadn’t yet turned his father into a brutal maniac, being a Death Eater had seemed darkly glorious, and Draco had wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. Now it was every nightmare he’d ever had made real.

Should he just tell Harry and then both run for it? He could just flee and let the Boy Who Lived deal with it himself…but that thought made his sour stomach ache all the more. There was another horrible temptation he felt. He could be high among the Dark Lord’s favorites if he turned in Harry Potter. The Ministry had already robbed the Malfoys of their wealth and home, did he really feel any loyalty to the side that had left him starving?

That clinched it. He had no loyalty to any side, but one person had fed him when he hungered. One person had guarded his dignity in secret, with no desire for repayment, or even gratitude. One person had felt sympathy for him despite five years of pranks and insults. Harry.

It was a hard, fast way to define his feelings, but there was no time for anything less than absolute self honesty. Maybe it wasn’t love, and maybe it wasn’t anything that would last, but for what it was worth, he liked Harry more than he could recall liking anyone else…ever. He’d find a way to get Harry out of this mess no matter what it took!

He was still blushing at the sudden clarity of his own thoughts when Harry walked into the room and was directed to their table. Draco forgot to strike his pose, and just stared as Harry walked up.

He looked pretty good in Muggle clothes, even if they weren’t high quality, and his hair was as mussed and imperfect as always. This time, however, Draco saw things he’d never noticed before.

Harry seemed happy, but terribly anxious, and the slight shyness and awkward, self conscious movements made him look more vulnerable and desirable than ever. Draco forgot all about the emergency in the offing for a second, while he watched the green eyed boy take his seat and smile at him nervously.

“Nice table. This is great. I never really sat down for dinner here before. Didn’t even know they set private tables like this for people. By the way, I’m really glad you asked me here.”

Harry was rambling. It was actually kind of flattering. Draco found it intoxicating to think that he could turn Harry Potter into an awkward, stammering wreck. The he saw an ugly face near the bar, staring at the two of them, and his mind snapped back to the present.

“Yes. Well, you certainly did a greater kindness to me this summer. It was the least I could do. You know, if the Ministry ever gets off its sorry arse and does the paperwork to free my inheritance, I could do something a little more lavish to say thank you.” Draco did his best to sound casual, as he wasn’t really comfortable saying exactly how he felt about Harry’s kindness.

Harry’s cheeks pinked and he cast his eyes down and kept his voice low. “Draco…you don’t owe me anything. We’re even. I’d never expect anything…”

“Shut it. I know what you do or don’t expect. We discussed that. I don’t HAVE to do anything, I’m a Malfoy, we do as we please. It just happens to please me to have dinner with you. It might later please me to do something a little more grandiose. I’ll ask you when the time comes, and your part is saying yes or no…how’s that?”

Harry flushed full crimson. “Okay…okay. I got it.” Then Harry smiled and it felt like Draco’s world had just gotten brighter. “I can think of something right now, that would be a perfect gift…if you wanted to give it?”

Draco was still edgy and aware of the danger that surrounded them, but he couldn’t bear to ruin the moment so soon. He went along with Potter’s coy question with a wry smirk of his own. “Pray tell, what would that be?”

Harry looked him in the eye. “Tell me. Are we here just to talk about things…or is this a real date? I want to know.” It was so matter of fact, the way Harry had put it, that Draco was momentarily silent.

Draco marshaled his thoughts. There wasn‘t much time, and even though he hated the lack of subtlety involved, he found he really wanted to just tell Harry what he felt. “There are things we need to talk about…” Harry’s face fell, and his body language screamed tension. “…but I asked you here for a real date. I don’t want to talk about the dream. I think I already know how you feel, and…and as crazy as it sounds, I like you, too. I don’t know how we could possibly do this, but I want to go out with you, Harry. I just hope I haven’t made an idiot of myself asking that.”

Apparently bluntness worked well when dealing with Gryffindors. Harry’s face lit up like a living sun, and Draco could almost feel the joy radiating outward from Harry. In true Gryffindor style, Harry stood and leaned across the table, reaching forward to a suddenly very nervous Draco.

A second later, hands were in his hair, and Harry’s lips were on his, uncertain and trembling, but slowly and surely working out ways to move in time with Draco’s own.

Draco’s head was spinning. He knew how to snog, more or less, but it had always been so clinical and vaguely boring. This…this heated his blood and stole his breath. Harry made him feel like he was starving, and not for anything as simple as food, but for Harry alone.

He relaxed and slid his way away from the table, still attached at the face to Harry, loving the intensity that getting physically closer to Harry brought. All he could think of was the softness of those lips that pressed and curled against his own, and the thrill that came from arms that wrapped around his waist so comfortably that he couldn’t remember when they hadn’t been there. A sudden rush of blood to his groin produced a swelling that positively ached, but he no longer really cared.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw the scowl of the Death Eater at the bar. Reality crashed back, and he knew what he had to do. He worked his way away from Harry’s mouth, brushing his lips against the line of Harry’s jaw, and ultimately finding his way to a spot just behind the lobe of Harry’s ear. The dark haired boy was gasping, and practically melted into a puddle in Draco’s arms.

It took all the strength Draco could muster to whisper into Harry’s ear, “Harry, we’re in danger. The man at the bar is a Death Eater. We have to get out of here or take him out. We need a plan, but whatever we do, I’m with you.”

Every muscle in Harry’s body stiffened, and the gasps and small sounds he’d been making screeched to halt. He kept Harry’s face out of view, hoping the man wouldn’t see the change in Harry’s demeanor, but he couldn’t have imagined feeling more terrible than he did at that moment.

TBC


	9. Part 9

Secondhand Robes (part 9)…by Samayel

 

Harry sat down slowly, watching Draco’s face with the intentness of a hawk.

“How do you know it’s a Death Eater?” There was an edgy, challenging tone in his voice, and he knew that Draco wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t care.

Draco bristled, but his face was a cheerful mask, schooled to display only what he wanted the man at the bar to see. He privately thanked Merlin that Potter had his back to the bar. His face showed every emotion and would have given them away in a heartbeat.

“Seriously, we both know who my father is. I know one when I see one, and if that isn’t enough, he recognized me for a Malfoy and wants me to help capture you. Draw your own conclusions, but discussing it with you first would be a strange way of going about it, hmm?” Draco sounded hurt and exasperated, even though his features showed nothing out of place.

Harry relented a little. It was his own fault. He’d slipped off for a date, knowing full well what could happen if he was seen by the wrong people, but the allure of a first date had been more than he could resist. Asking for permission would have meant having the two of them surrounded by Aurors, and there was no hope of private conversation or snogging under those circumstances.

Harry knew he’d screwed up, and even though he vaguely wanted to suspect and blame Draco to avoid the truth, his sense of self preservation steered him right. This was no time to panic or point fingers. They needed a plan…and soon.

“Alright, alright…I’m sorry. I don’t really think you had anything to do with this. This is just what I get for sneaking out to have a life. I’m just pissed that the fucking war won’t leave me alone long enough for just one date!”

Draco almost lost his cool. His voice didn’t carry, but it was clear that he was angry, no matter what his face showed. 

“Fucking Salazar’s Beard, Potter! You knew something like this could happen? Why the hell didn’t you tell me that? We could have stayed at the castle and figured something out. Do you really have a death wish?”

Harry flushed, angry and embarrassed. “Why? Why the hell do you think? No one ever asked to take me to dinner before, I wouldn’t have said no even if there were Death Eaters dancing in the streets. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, sorry, I like you and I’m flattered, but piss off because there’s a war on?’ I really wanted this to be a good night. So much for what I want.”

Draco smiled convincingly, still acting the cheerful suitor for the enemy that watched them.

“Here’s an idea, Potter. You still want a good meal with me?”

Harry wondered where Draco was going with this. “Yeah, but…”

“How about we have it anyway. That arse actually thinks I’ll lure you out of the building later to a place where he can get the drop on you. How about we make him wait. Let’s just have our date, and enjoy it properly, then we worry about ditching him. Sound good?”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Draco really sounded a bit crazy, but the notion had a certain style. Dining quietly and having a good snog while possible death was only a few meters away…that sounded…appealing. Harry relaxed just a thread, and smiled.

“Okay, tell you what. You keep an eye on him from your position. If he moves for his wand, I expect to see you go for yours. I’ve already got mine ready in my lap, and I‘ll duck and throw everything I‘ve got that way if you give me the signal. It’s crazy, and we’ll probably at least wind up pissing him off and trashing the bar…I like it. Give me a menu.” Harry could see the tiny tremble of Draco’s lip. Draco looked like he’d break out laughing at any minute, but he kept his cover well.

The waitress came a moment later, and Draco ordered roast duck and various sides for himself, while Harry ordered a rare steak and potatoes for himself. Draco already had wine, albeit not a memorable vintage, and he poured a glass for Harry while they waited for the food to come.

“Sip it slow, Harry. We need to stay alert. I wish we didn’t have to, but there we are. I suppose, this being a date and all, we should actually talk about anything we want. You agree?”

Harry nodded, still tense as hell, but beginning to warm to the feel of chatting coolly while danger lurked nearby. Draco continued.

“Good. I don’t want to spoil your appetite, but I was serious about wanting to talk to you. Harry, tell me about where you grew up. Please? I just want to understand the things I saw. How could those things have been…real?”

Harry blanched. Draco’s face looked honestly curious, and his voice was so matter of fact that Harry couldn’t help but believe him. He hadn’t planned on talking about that, however. Where other people’s dates this nerve-wracking?

“The Dursleys. My mother’s sister took me in when my parents died. I don’t think they wanted me, they just sort of tolerated me. They hated magic and anything even a little out of the ordinary…I guess that included me. It wasn’t so bad really. You saw some of the worst. At least soon I won’t have to see them again.”

“Fuck all, Harry. You’re pretty forgiving about all that. Do you really understand how wrong it was of them to treat you that way? I mean, damn it, Harry…starving a little boy and leaving him in a cupboard? At least my father didn’t go crazy until a couple years ago. I just…well…I just never imagined that ‘The Harry Potter’ could have grown up like that.”

Harry snorted derisively. “Yeah, well what the wizarding world actually knows about ‘The Harry Potter’ could fit in a thimble and still leave room for your finger. To be honest, I wish they knew even less, but if I don’t talk to the press myself, they’ll just find someone who will, and probably someone who hates me at that.”

The veiled reference to Rita Skeeter was not lost on Draco. He cast his eyes downward. “Look…I’m sorry about that, too. That was then, this is now. I hope you’ll respect the fact that I’ve taken a number of big steps lately. I’m just glad we’re here now…well, except for ‘Chuckles’ over by the bar.”

Harry dropped the subject, impressed that he’d heard a second apology from Draco in the same week, even if it was grudgingly.

“What about you, Draco? I saw…what I saw. How did it get to that? Why? I always thought your family worshipped you. Best clothes, new brooms, gifts from home every week. I was jealous, you know? I never even got Christmas or birthday gifts until I came here. I used to hate seeing how bored you were when you opened those packages in the Great Hall. I’d have given anything to have family that sent me things just because.”

Draco looked like he was having trouble keeping his relaxed mask in place, and Harry instantly regretted his question. After a few seconds, and with a patently false calm to his voice, Draco answered.

“Tri-Wizard Tournament. After the Leaving. My father was in a rage when I came home, and nothing I said or did was good enough. I suppose I’d been the beloved child too long, and I didn’t know when to stop talking and just agree with him. I got tired of his ranting and asked if I could go. I admit, I may have been a bit sarcastic when I asked, but I think you’ll agree that that hardly called for what came after. He went absolutely insane. He…he didn’t stop. Even when I couldn’t get up or even speak. I think he healed me after only because I was his heir. He only healed what he had to…to keep me alive. He left the rest as a lesson. After that summer, he got worse every time I saw him. I didn’t tell you before, but I’ll say it now. I was relieved when he was arrested. Not because I care about wars or sides, but because I could go home and sleep without being afraid. Then the Ministry showed up and tossed me out. That’s about it…or at least as much as I want to ever talk about him, with you, or anyone else, ever again.” Draco’s eyes glinted, closing that topic as surely as a slammed door.

Harry struggled for something to say that wasn’t all bad memories, but at this point, there wasn’t much else between them to work with.

“When I heard about the arrests, I never thought the Ministry would leave you high and dry like that. It was just wrong. They should have made sure you were alright and taken care of. I just assumed you’d be okay. When I saw you in Diagon Alley, I asked my guardians, and they told me most of what happened. The rest…you know how I learned it. I just thought you should know that I don’t agree with the Ministry. I’m not even on their ‘side’. I’m really just on the side of not getting killed.”

Their meal finally arrived, and Harry was grateful for the break for tense conversation. He tucked into his food with gusto. Savoring every bite. As he washed down the steak with sips of wine, his mind still reeled with the knowledge that Draco had bought this for him. Draco Malfoy had bought him this  
meal, on their first date. It was so surreal. It was almost worth risking his life to feel this weirdly good.

Draco raised his glass, and Harry lifted his in return. Draco toasted the occasion simply. “To full stomachs, new friends, and easily confounded enemies!”

Their glasses clinked, and Harry suddenly realized that this was the most relaxed he had ever seen Draco. For that matter, it was becoming the most relaxed he’d ever been while near Draco as well. He hadn’t had enough wine to make a difference, so the warm feeling that filled him could only have been happiness. It might have seemed cynical, but for a moment he just wondered if he hadn’t recognized it because it had been absent from his life for so long. Funny that he should feel that good again, from having dinner with Draco Malfoy.

Then his musings were interrupted by Draco’s widened eyes, and the sudden movement of his hand toward his wand.

The room exploded into action, and Harry ducked his head and rolled to the ground, trying to make out a target while moving enough to stay hard to hit. Fluttering robes and shouted spells were everywhere, and seconds later it was eerily silent in The Three Broomsticks.

The gap toothed man lay at the foot of the bar, unconscious, disarmed, bound, and covered from head to toe in suppurating pustules that looked incredibly painful. Harry looked to Draco, wondering who cast all the other spells, when out of the far end of the bar, Hermione and Ron walked up.

Harry shook his head in amazement. Ron was looking daggers at Draco, and Hermione was clucking her tongue like a mother about to deliver a scolding.

“You didn’t really think you could just slip out of Hogwarts unattended and no one would notice, did you, Harry? Are you even in your right mind? You could have been killed, or captured, or captured and then killed!”

Ron jumped in. “Oy! And with Malfoy, too! Why not paint a big target that says ’Curse me here!’ on it, right on your chest? Or how about ‘Too thick to live’? No wonder you get attacked by You Know Who’s lot, running about with Ferret Boy!”

Harry leaped to Draco’s defense, hoping to stave off a full fledged fight between Draco and his friends. Ron was furious, and Hermione disappointed, but at least he got them calmed down, and he was only barely able to keep Draco from unleashing his viper tongue on everyone in sight.

By the time it was all resolved, Aurors had come and taken statements, and discreet Order members had arrived to help ensure that no more Death Eaters were lurking about during the journey back to Hogwarts.

Draco had looked mortified for the last several hours, having been questioned and re-questioned more than all the other patrons of the bar combined. Only Harry’s near explosion of temper had finally convinced the others that Draco’s statements had been accurate. Apparently the opinion of the name Malfoy was at a record low in the Ministry, and his mere presence left fingers itching to write him up as the source of that night’s happenings.

The walk back to Hogwarts, under heavy guard, was the longest and most silent journey Harry could have imagined. Draco walked with his spine erect, his shoulders squared, and his chin up, but his eyes seemed flat and dead, and he didn’t look at or speak to Harry the entire way home.

Harry ultimately found himself herded back to his dorm, scorned by his friends, chided by his mentors, and with no one to blame but himself for the mess he was in now.

Despite the excitement and danger of that night, and the considerable trouble he was in, the only detail that remained clear and true in his mind as he drifted to sleep, was that wonderful, wonderful kiss.

 

TBC


	10. Part 10

Secondhand Robes (part 10)…by Samayel

 

Draco maintained the same cool distance from Harry right up to the holidays. Harry sulked, having apologized for his friends, his allies, the Ministry, and everyone else that had been involved in the fiasco at The Three Broomsticks. He’d tried notes and letters, hints about needing a few minutes to talk, and pleading glances in the hallways. His efforts had been in vain.

In Slytherin, rumors flew back and forth. Some wildly inaccurate, others dangerously close to the truth. At the moment, the majority of the school suspected that Draco had at least been involved in some kind of attempt on Harry’s life, even though there was no proof. The rest of Slytherin wavered between threatening to ostracize Draco for being caught in public with Harry, and lauding him as a hero for nearly getting Harry killed without winding up in Azkaban. Only a few people knew the truth, and they weren’t talking.

Harry had been brought to ground by his friends and the Order, and would be spending the holidays at Grimmauld Place with no hope of setting foot outside. Ron was barely speaking to him, Hermione constantly returned to the subject of Harry taking unnecessary risks, and Draco hadn’t spoken a word to him since that night.

After the first two days of silence from Draco, Harry had found himself crying into his pillow before he could sleep at night. After a week, and with his departure for Grimmauld Place in front of him, Harry finally became desperate. His classmates knew he was a wreck, but if Draco wouldn’t talk to him, he had to take some action that would get a response. 

His cloak had been confiscated, ostensibly for his own good, but his map was still in his trunk. Risks be damned, he would find Draco before he left today! There were only a few hours left at his disposal, and he meant to use them. Harry opened the Marauder’s Map and activated it.

To his surprise and shock, Draco Malfoy was en route to the Gryffindor Tower. The labeled dot moved unerringly through the map of the school, and the only place it could possibly be heading from its current position was here. Harry’s heart leaped in his chest.

‘He’s coming to see me! He finally got over it…and we can talk…or snog…or god, anything he wants! I knew he’d get over it!’

Harry stemmed the tide of giddiness that threatened to leave him dancing through the common room and stowed away his map. He made a beeline for the common room and stepped out into the hallway, waiting nervously for Draco to appear in the hall. He did have to keep wiping his hands on his shirt, as his palms were sweating quite badly. A bit embarrassing, but hey, he had the right to be a little anxious!

Draco finally rounded the bend and saw Harry in the hall a second later. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, and Harry wanted to take that as a good sign, and assume that Draco had missed him just as much as he had missed Draco. Of course, Draco also looked like he was steeling himself for something unpleasant, and Harry’s stomach fluttered nervously in the meantime.

“Potter. There are some things I need to say. Do you want to talk here, or shall we take this somewhere a little more private?”

Harry didn’t fully trust his voice, so he nodded assent and led Draco to an old prefect’s suite that wasn’t far off. They walked in silence, and Harry was afraid that if he did speak, he’d break down almost instantly and wind up babbling, or worse, crying. It was nerve wracking and annoying, feeling so emotional over another person.

They reached the safety and privacy of the suite, and after a Silencing Charm and a quick Locking Spell, Harry sat down on the edge of a slightly dusty chair. Draco remained standing, and paced a bit before Harry prompted him.

“Draco, I meant it when I said I was sorry about all of that. I’ll..”

“Potter, don’t…don’t say anything. This isn’t easy, but I have to get this out. Okay?”

Harry let himself be interrupted, suddenly filled with absolute dread. His stomach clenched, and it was suddenly very hard to breath. This wasn’t the conversation he’d been hoping for…and his gut told him it was going to get worse.

Draco kneaded his brow and paced while he talked. “Believe me, it isn’t that I don’t like you. I do, but no one, and I mean no one, likes ‘us’. I had a while to think about it, and I think your friends and mine are right. We didn’t even make it through a first date without disaster looming over our heads. We don’t belong together, and that’s just how it is. I don’t blame you for the Ministry…or for the others…I know you know the truth. I’m not angry at you at all, but I think we need to be as realistic about this as your friends were, and just put this behind us and get back to our lives. Can you handle that?”

At least Draco looked nervous, but his voice was matter of fact and business like, and Harry felt a lump in his throat blocking his answer. Draco saw the moisture shining in Harry’s eyes, and the tight and miserable expression on Harry’s face, and he frowned.

“Don’t make this harder than it is. It was just one date, Potter! It’s not the end of the world, but we can’t be Hogwarts’ ‘hot new item’. It’s just doomed. Can’t you see that?”

Harry mustered the nerve to speak, trying very hard not to completely humiliate himself. “Draco…I just…I really wanted to try. I don’t care what they think. I’ll do anything I have to…anything you want…just please…don’t quit. We didn’t even get a real chance to try! I…I don’t want anybody else…I want you.”

Having the very thoughts that had nagged at him for days parroted back to him was more than Draco could handle. His face pinched, and he was furious that his emotions were betraying him and fraying his tenuous grasp on self control. He snapped.

“Finite!” The spells on the door ended. “Harry, I said what I had to say. This is over. I expect you to deal with it. Go to your world, I’ll go to mine. This conversation is over.”

Before Harry could do anything but stare in desperation, Draco had slammed the door behind him and was gone. Harry buried his face in in hands and wept. 

He tried to tell himself that Draco was right; that it was just one date, that it was impossible, and things were better this way, but his chest still ached, his eyes still burned, and he still felt like some precious part of him had been torn off and lost.

It was just stupid, feeling this way about one pathetic date that had gone pear shaped in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t just that, but in a way, that date had come to represent everything that Harry had already lost to a war that devoured everything good in his life. That one brief fleck of happiness was another casualty of his so-called destiny, and Harry was just tired…so incredibly tired…of losing the things that made him happy.

\---------------------------------------------

Draco returned to his rooms in Slytherin, and waited until he was certain that everyone had left. There were only a half dozen students left behind for the holidays, and he was the only Slytherin this time. At least he had privacy, which almost made it a bit of a holiday, even if he was alone and broke and stuck in school.

‘Damn Potter for a Hufflepuff! Why? Why did it have to be him? This…this just…well, it just SUCKS!’

Draco threw himself onto the common room couch with a huff. Anybody but Potter, and this wouldn’t have been such a bloody emotional ordeal. The traitorous voice in the back of his head whispered that, if it had been anybody but Potter, he wouldn’t been interested enough to care in the first place.

Draco ground his teeth and punched the arm of the couch, trying to drive thoughts like that out of his head. He needed a little sanity in his life, and Potter was not a likely source for that. The soppy git had done enough damage. Draco would be fighting off rumors for months, and there was still the risk that, if the truth came out, he could quickly become a target for assassination by Voldemort’s followers. Just being near Potter was a ticket to sure trouble. One date equaled instant chaos…just imagine what going steady would cause!

Then his vindictive subconscious threw the memory of that kiss to the front of his mind, and Draco closed his eyes and savored it, unwilling to fight a memory so pleasant.

It had been the most remarkable moment of his life to date. Harry may have initiated it, but once Draco had started to kiss back, the black haired boy had relinquished control and just melted into Draco’s arms like he belonged there, responding perfectly to every touch and movement. Draco had never been so savagely or suddenly turned on in his entire life, and he’d nearly wanked himself raw over the past week. How could something so simple, so plebian and common, feel that earth-shakingly good?

The first day of the holiday was an empty grind for Draco. He studiously avoided the other kids, and tried to drown himself in homework and Potions projects. Not that it made the night any easier. He slept badly, again, and went to breakfast the next day wishing he’d taken a few potions to soothe nerves and ease sleep.

No less than four owls arrived for Draco in the space of ten minutes. Draco couldn’t seem to get more than a few bites into his mouth before the next owl would arrive and drop another letter at his side. He had his own suspicions about their origins, but he waited until he’d eaten to open them.

He wasn’t surprised to see Harry’s name on one of the envelopes, but all the others astonished him. One was from Arthur Weasley, and another was from Hermione Granger. The third was from his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, whom he hadn’t seen since he was very small.

He opened Granger’s first. Might as well start with the comic relief. Her high handed, know-it-all tone was almost dripping off the page, but at least it was civil. She seemed to be supporting his decision to call off seeing Harry, and, though she never implied actual trust in Draco, she did imply that she trusted Harry’s account of events, and by default, accepted that Draco hadn’t been responsible for the Death Eater’s presence.

Draco snorted derisively. If Granger was agreeing with him, he might have to reconsider his choices! He opened the letter from the Arthur Weasley next.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Harry has spoken very passionately on your behalf, and whatever bad blood may have passed between our families, I have been made aware that you have recently done us a great kindness.

Harry is very dear to us, and it is quite clear that you acted to protect him at some risk to yourself. You have the gratitude of our entire family, and you can be assured that I will use what influence I do possess, however limited, to persuade the Ministry to expedite your case.

I do feel that you have made the right decision about discontinuing this association with Harry, and though he hasn’t accepted this yet, we will try to make him understand the reality of the situation, as you so clearly have.

Well done and best wishes, 

Sincerely, Arthur Weasley

Draco read it again just to be sure his eyes were working. It was nice that the Elder Weasel was going to work on getting the Ministry to do its job, but it was disconcerting to have received compliments from one of them, much less gratitude. He opened the letter from his cousin while he mulled over the possibilities of the previous one.

Hello, Little Dragon.

Good job at the Three Broomsticks. I always thought you’d go the way of your dad, but I suppose I can be wrong. For what it’s worth, I’ll put in a good word for you at work, and see if anyone will get cracking on your case, but I can’t make any promises.

Good Luck,

Tonksy

PS: You’re daft if you give up on Harry. He’s keen on you, and a great kid. You don’t know what you’re missing…and I’ve seen him in his pajamas!

Draco flushed pure scarlet. His cousin had always been a bit wild, but that was when she’d been a teen. Evidently she hadn’t lost touch with her playful sense of humor. She still knew how to embarrass Draco effortlessly. She also knew how to distract him completely…as he now had the imaginary image of Harry in pajamas, hair mussed and sleepy eyed, lingering in his skull.

That left only one letter. Draco opened it hesitantly, and took a deep breath before he read it.

Draco,

I’ve talked to everyone I can. If I have to make a deal with the Minister himself, I’ll find a way to get your case resolved. 

Everyone keeps telling me that you were right, and that I need to just get over this and move on. Maybe they’re right. I don’t know. I just hate not knowing.

I’ve missed you for over a week, and it’s even worse here. No hallways, and no smiles when no one is watching. I hate it.

I’m sorry if I can’t do like you asked, and just leave it alone, but I have to try just once more. Please think about it again, and this time ignore everyone else and go with what you really want.

If you don’t answer this letter, I won’t send anymore, and I won’t bother you in school. I promise. Hey, even if you do answer it, and you say not to bother you in school, I’ll do as you ask…but either way, I’d just like to hear from you soon. Take good care of yourself.

Yours?, Harry

Draco picked up his letters and slipped back to Slytherin’s common room. It was going to be a very long holiday, and he didn’t know how to answer Harry’s letter, or even if he wanted to. The whole situation was fraught with peril and tension, and it was easier just to ignore it and hope it went away, and took his traitorous heart along with it.

Two days later, a letter from the Ministry arrived. Draco’s case was resolved. He was emancipated from his parents, named as the new Lord Malfoy, and granted full access to all properties and vaults that came with that title.

Draco left Hogwarts for the remainder of the holiday, and spent his remaining time in the home he’d grown up in, surrounded by luxury that was now all his own. For all that he was surrounded by comfort and ease, his holiday was no less restless than it had been at school.

TBC


	11. Part 11

Secondhand Robes (part 11)…by Samayel

Draco woke on his last day at the manor with a pounding headache. He’d taken to drinking wine at night to speed the onset of sleep, and to dim the dreams that plagued him. This morning, he paid for his indulgence in spades.

Contrary to what he’d imagined, the manor hadn’t been as comfortable as he’d hoped. Oh, the comforts were as wonderful as always, but he was more alone than ever he’d been at Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. It was just one boy, trying to be a man, and a pack of house-elves, rattling around in an enormous mansion like peas in a giant pod.

He felt like a little boy wearing a grown man’s robes. Despite his best efforts to fit the role of ‘Lord of the Manor’, he still felt lost, uncertain, and horribly, frighteningly alone. The dreams hadn’t helped things much, either.

Every night, he dreamed of Potter. Sometimes they were innocent but disconcerting, like the one where they’d been playing Quidditch and laughing, but other times they were the kind of dreams that made his face flush when he remembered them. He’d been wanking more often than ever he could recall, and it scarcely did any good. The gnawing realization that some needs couldn’t be fulfilled by his hand was slowly becoming clearer.

He’d tried not to think of Harry, but he was alone every day in a giant house with nothing to do but a few bits of paperwork. He wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for Potter and his friends. How could he escape from thinking of Harry under these circumstances?

He still hadn’t answered Harry’s letter. He’d wanted to…sometimes, but he just couldn’t imagine what he could say that could undo what had passed between them. Even if he said yes, there would still be enemies laying in wait for them, outraged friends, and incensed elders carping on about it being wrong for both of them. Draco thought of himself as a realist, and a realist looking at this situation would turn and flee with no regrets.

So how come he regretted this so much?

‘You know why.’

His annoying inner voice had been cropping up more insistently than ever. Draco often caught himself dodging unpleasant thoughts, searching for more comfortable notions, and his own conscience sometimes corrected him and drove him to look at matters he didn’t enjoy, but urgently needed to address. Mostly, he wished that his conscience would fuck the hell off and leave him be. Today was no exception.

Tomorrow morning he would be back at Hogwarts, back in Slytherin, and Harry would be there, making Draco ache with every glance. He had money, a home, a wardrobe that was full to bursting, and all the food and personal comforts anyone could imagine.

So why wasn’t he happy?

'You know why.'

Fuck.

Draco ate, bathed, and busied himself packing his things for Hogwarts, along with a taking along ridiculous amount number of Galleons, just to make sure he could rub his wealth in the noses of those who had slighted him.

He left the wine alone that night, and lacking the ingredients for the appropriate potion, he simply accepted that he was going to dream of Harry. It really wasn’t such an awful fate, just terribly distracting. Tomorrow would be hard enough, a little distraction might be the only comfort he got, so he might as well enjoy it.

That night, Draco did indeed dream of Harry, and more importantly, he had an epiphany. Certain things were as clear to him as day itself, and he put his worries aside. He knew what he had to do, it was just a matter of doing it. Draco woke with an air of calm about him that he had never had before, and he left early, arriving at Hogwarts long before the train.

His things were unpacked well ahead of the arriving Slytherin crowd, and he lounged in the common room as they trundled in before the feast. He was wearing his finest robes, which he’d set the elves to adjusting perfectly, and sporting a thick pouch of gold at his hip. He put on an ostentatious show for the arriving students.

Those who had been passing decent to him over the last couple of months were greeted warmly, while those who had snubbed him or who had openly spoken ill of him were savagely snubbed in return.

He made it utterly clear to all that he was the new Lord Malfoy, and that he possessed enough wealth to buy their like a thousand times over, and sell them at a loss each time, just for fun.

He even flung a handful of Galleons to the floor and let others pick them up as he walked away, just to remind them all that their fortunes were his pocket change.

Having firmly reminded everyone in Slytherin that he was the master of his own destiny, Draco made his way to the Great Hall. There was one more point he had to make, and this one would be the most spectacular of all.

\----------------------------------------------

Harry had pined away at Grimmauld Place for two whole weeks. No letter came. Hogwarts had always been the place he was happiest to see, but today it filled him with dread and sadness. Today, he would have to walk the same halls with Draco Malfoy, and somehow manage not to wind up looking like a heartsick Hufflepuff.

He knew Draco had got the manor back, and he knew that with the case resolved, Draco had his gold back as well. He’d half hoped that when Draco got the word that he was Lord Malfoy, that he’d be so happy he’d contact Harry as soon as he could. Days ticked by, and Ron and Hermione only chided him that Malfoys were incapable of gratitude, no matter how much someone did for them.

Maybe they’d been right. With so much money and power, who would really need Harry? Evidently not Draco.

At least it didn’t hurt so much anymore. It stung, but it hadn’t been like losing Sirius. The pain went away, and all that were left were the faint and wonderful wisps of memory that Harry cherished.

The kiss. Draco’s hands on his waist. Draco’s lips on his neck, and just behind his ear. Blond hair and eyes like ice and scudding clouds. It had been a brief and doomed little thing, but at least Harry had those bittersweet memories. He didn’t want anyone else, but he’d been alone all his life really...he could deal with it.

Harry sat in the same compartment on the train that he’d been in two months before. He rode alone, idly wondering if Malfoy was even on the train. No one else had seen him, and Harry hadn’t heard of or seen anyone resembling Malfoy at the platform, either.

The Great Hall was in its usual bustle, arriving students seating themselves and making small talk before they supped, and Harry took his place at the Gryffindor table and listened to the chatter of friends and classmates.

Harry’s back was to the entrance, and it was Ron’s creased brow and surprised glare that made Harry turn and look.

Draco Malfoy stood at the entrance to the Great Hall, dressed like a king, staring directly at Harry, and waiting. As soon as Harry returned his gaze, Draco smiled. Harry wanted to melt when he saw that smile, and he was half out of his seat before he saw Malfoy mouth the words ‘Come here’ to him.

Harry walked the room until he stood in front of Draco, a little confused, but full of hope for the first time in two weeks. He was so focused on Draco that he didn’t notice the silence creeping across the Great Hall, or the fact that every eye was upon them.

He didn’t know what to say, so he settled for smiling and waiting for Draco to take the lead, mulling over how to keep from spooking Draco off if he wasn’t in the mood for certain topics. Harry was utterly unprepared for what came next.

Draco closed the distance between them with two quick steps, slid his arms around a shocked and silent Harry’s waist, and kissed him passionately in front of the entire assembled student body.

A deafening cacophony arose as hundreds of Hogwarts students began babbling at the same time, some in outrage, some with envy, and even some with awe.

The kiss drifted into a full-on snog, the likes of which were usually reserved for far less public places, and just as the staff began to think about intervening, Draco broke away from Harry, who was a bit dizzy and dreamy eyed.

Harry finally got his senses back a few seconds later, and almost shouting over the roar of students, laughingly asked Draco, “What changed your mind?”

Draco pulled Harry close, because this answer was only for him, and spoke the words slowly, punctuating them with kisses.

“Because…Malfoys…do what they please…and…because…Draco...Malfoy…doesn’t...wear…second...hand...robes.”

Very few people in Hogwarts were happy that day, but Harry and Draco finally were, and that was all that really mattered. Draco never had cause to doubt his decision, and Harry never came to regret his choice, and that, as they say, was that.

THE END


End file.
